all i ever wanted was assurance
but you gave me a book full of paradoxes.
you are the last note that completes my piece,
however, you refused to be.
such inconcinnity,
i guess i'll never be the melody
of your harmony.

and now i sit on this piano bench all alone,
trying to make a song about
how you left me on my own.
reminiscing the words you ought to do
until our last breaths,
i realized that your compositions
should be burn to death.