Shake off your routine, I stink of lying in between telling you good, and whispering the mean.
I don't mean to critic, but everytime that you appear, pointless agonies interuppting my sleep so it seems.
My friends together gone to bed, as my lovehood, goes far ahead, everyone seems to appriciate, but no one seems to be this delicate.
Yet, old habits that I kept now remind me how you left, as the twiching and the warning never left me as you slept.
We cant even fucking greet, without wrecking up your brand new sheets, well I guess we'll settle for cold root beer.
With all this messed up history, you can keep the notebook, and ill get my writing degree.
Fuck with this, and fuck everyone, and fuck you too, I'm fucking done.
