Well, God, I guess I seek your advice,
You see, I've hit what they call, "rock bottom".
And if you happen to reminisce,
Of the things that I daily miss:
Your front yard, your front porch, and your house,
Are things I'll have to do without.
What's even worse?
Is that you're not here
And if you had to choose,
Between something and me,
I hope you'd choose that something,
And quickly forget me,
Forget all about me.
Well, winter's here,
I'm stuck in your rut,
You'd think by now,
I would've shut my mouth,
Can this get much worse?
I'm really hoping so,
Then you'd finally see,
What we've become:
Something short but so long lasting,
It's just so frustrating,
Realizing you've becoming everything to me.
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