Alone because it behooves me, it suits me like clothes that's too old to throw away.

Music playing but it isn't mine, and I have no say over what it says.

Betrayal is in my midst and underneath all my lines.

But because I know, I cannot say they are all lies.

Love has seemed to be the most perilous of ending themes, in that it begins but never flees past the initial scenes.

I am not alone, but accompanied by my mind.