words are violent
the times are too
since I'm done now how am I supposed to know what to do

exactly the same spots to sit in
drowning in the dreams of sin
embrace what will never come

I never knew or did anything to tell you how much you mattered
I guess you didn't mean that much to me then
it's good to move on and on
cut downs poles and burn down closets
(I'm hiding under your bed)
can't get me
three hours can be too short
and three minutes can be too long

I can be in the burning bed
like my burning head
every aspect of the idea (of being done)
disgusts the truth

conventional as it is to ask where you are
and what have you done to the one
I used to know and will I ever see you again
I think it's something I feel and will feel for a long time
(not understanding the basic complexities of human interaction)

and it's too hard
and I probably can't do it
as I journey into the world
out the door
I probably can't do it

if I could go back in time to win you over
I probably couldn't do it
so I wouldn't and I'd still be here anyway
the burning bed hurts like hell and
it's never going to stop since
I'll never die

and if I asked for just two minutes
would you be polite and give me three
(I don't ever want you inside of-)
or would it better to just lie down
and get up and look at you
and hang myself in your closet?

(there's a limited time to look into my eyes and tell me how you're doing or what you feel because I'm not going to do it anymore this is your responsibility not mine I feel it all the time and time is done)