one day you'll ask me why
i hate the smell of beer,
and i'll have to tell you
it filled the air when he hit her,
then you'll notice
how i avoid red wine,
and i'll look away to say that
she reeked of it when she screamed at me,
you'll pick up on
how much ***** makes me gag,
and i'll be ashamed to tell you
i washed it out of my hair at 3 am while sobbing,
i'll push away jack
and you'll be sure to ask why,
and i'll cry and tell you
i can't remember why i hate it,
that i can't remember much at all

and then you'll know who i was
when i wasn't me