With every loss he builds another wall
with every downbeat he beats himself up
with every song he adds he cries and lies all
will be fine.

He says he will not, knows he isn't, heard she doesn't,
the glass through which you look at me is made of pity,
the shoes I wear are less witty, my comments on ways.

I could walk an eternity of infinities, times ahead of
plans, working, divided by the times I've mocked myself,
nothing left.