tiny broken pieces and a faint memory of you

a slave that never looks back-twenty nine

I am afraid that I'll be your slave when I see you again
but then, I remember all those times;
all those chimes;
and all those hurtful rhymes

and I say to myself,
your eyes are empty;
what did I saw in them?
so next time we meet,
I'll just walk past you,
and never ever look back again