i'm nothing but a cliche
doubting everything we were
but who can blame me for these questions
when you lay in bed with her

two weeks, that's all it took
for you to fall out of love with me
despite your concern of the end
you're coping fine, even comfortably

i feel my inspiration slipping
i can't think, let alone write
because when i do it leads back to you
and all i do is cry