For so many years I held my breath for you, held under what became the ocean; struggling to find footing on what became the ocean floor?and now, as I reflect on what became my foundation?
Who am I to say the grass was ever greener where my own feet struck on the earth?
And that the fields they seemed much neater on my side of the fence; and who am I to question why you took the path you took?
And who the fuck am I to open this closed book?
But the pages just keep turning and my pen just won?t dry, but my eyes they won?t stop burning and yet you still have no reply
I guess that in a way it had to be like this?and I guess in a way I?m glad it turned out like it did. Because I couldn?t stand your sight if I ran into you tonight; and if you died I just don?t think I?d have too much to say tonight?