The memory collapses me, with the betrayal of your head on my shoulder.
And reminds me of the irony that I didn't want you first.
As you take your first steps towards a life without me
I fall back into a chair and ask 'How could I let this happen?'.
And now I stay up late writing songs I hate, because
I never find the words. They're only a short trip away
but that wasn't short enough for you.
You don't know how much it hurt, stumbling through what I had to say
to be silenced by a shake of your head.
So once again I'm in an empty bed.
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