It was the turn of the century
And I was in a penitentiary,
Wondering what is but a ****,
An art fabricated by an ****.

It is all rudimentary ,
Or as Sherlock would say elementary,
I thought myself pretty smart,
Lying on a grand palliasse.

I’m sitting here counting the hours,
This isolation, it’s ominous
You have started creeping into my thoughts
A drug that I have surmounted.

I still remember the days,
It hurts, to open the boxes,
That I had put away,
Deep inside the abyss of my mind.

And I go outside and run, they're playing our song,
I reach the hill where we last met,
I scream at the top of my lungs,
Can’t handle this regret.

I look in the mirror,
And see an old man,
In a young man’s body,
This social distancing, it’s menacing.

I should have never left you,
I was a young and foolish,
I thought I could have,
Carried on without you.

And I shut myself in, they're playing our song,
I get high, why did you take that jet,
I scream at the top of my lungs,
Can’t handle this regret.