This is the last time...

So this is odd, the painful realization that all has gone wrong and nobody cares at all. So you buried all your lovers clothes and burned the letters lover wrote, but it doesn't make it any better. Does it make it any better? And the plaster dented from your fist in the hall where you had your first kiss reminds you that the memories will fade.

So this is strange. Our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dance where nobody leads at all. The picture frames are facing down and the ringing from this empty sound is deafening and keeping you from sleep. And breathing is a foreign task, and thinking's just too much to ask. You're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights.

Well you'd like to think that you were invincible, weren't we all before we felt loss for the first time?