It's funny how they tell me to knock,
But never close the door.
It's silly that they want me to know,
But only when it suits them.
It's stupid how much I want to go,
But never end up leaving.
It's ridiculous how I love him so,
But I know he doesn't feel the same.
I'm aware of the little situation,
Going on behind closed doors.
I'm aware of the pitiful diagnosis
Of a broken heart.
I'm aware of their whispers
About my early demise.
I'm aware of their wishes
That my death is by my own hands.
He says that he and him are only
Looking out for me.
He says that he and him are only
Acquaintances, barely friends.
He says that he and him are only
Living with me for my comfort.
He says that he and him are only
Sharing a room so I have space.
They don't think I know
What's happening.
They don't think I know
They're waiting for my will.
They don't think I know
About their love.
They don't think I know
I'm terminally ill.
But I suppose that's the benefit
Of Eavesdropping and having
A gone wrong lavender marriage,
A faulty heart,
And good ears.
Nobody knows what you know.
