If I were still talking to you,
So strange I once used to,
I’d ask you not to do something for me:
Don’t go back to that bar when we used to get lunch,
So the waiter can remember of us, can remember of us.
The only thing you can do for me is nothing.
Now I go on, hold on, wait, try to reach a top quality hate.
I forget to forget, I don’t remember that well
I fancy you come back to send you to hell,
My one dish is dirty in the sink and it’s all…
I’ve been depressed, obsessed, possessed,
I’m quite good at dealing with anything.
I keep talking to the bedroom wall
When I don’t have much to say, or nothing at all.
I know the only thing left to say is nothing.
You didn’t win, but I did lose, yet it was not a war.
Sometimes at night I think back of that bar,
I think of you, of me, of the way we were.
And I remember your hat, your hair