It'll be a year next Tuesday
I stare at the calendar and sweat
I shake and stir in my seat
and then I get a drink

One year and look at where we are

You're in love
with her I won't even utter her name
It burns my tongue like red pepper

and I'm here, alone in my room
tears flooding my lips
the same tears that have wetted my face
all year long

I have a job now,
I'm a real professional
I even wear a suit and drive a new car

But it doesn't really matter
my smile is fake
plastered to my face
I paste it on at 8
and rip it off like a bandaid come 5pm

I should be in love
with the woman that I have become
and the life that I lead

but a heart cannot beat
cut off from blood and life
it cannot become full
when it's still stuck in your grasp