I'm ****** and writing poetry of all the things you said to me
The good the bad the ugly and the  very  very  pretty
   I just wish we could've left these feelings hung up high across the ceiling
  High enough where we can't reach them
  Far enough so I don't feel them
What we were was something different
Now it's over, it was pointless
But I guess we all make mistakes
And I guess you're one I'm glad I made.