On the way home each day,
I can't tell you what I want to say.
Not your number to be seen,
can't tell you how it has been.
Seeing how this day went by,
I still don't want to die.
Hoping our plot can change,
like turning to the next page.
The number there untouched,
but I don't seem to slouch.
Seeing how this day went by,
I still don't want to say goodbye.
An idiot like me just gets pale,
because this isn't a fairytale.
The idiot is I,
you can see it in my eyes.
All thee tears I've cried,
the idiotic one is I...
