To put it nicely I hope you choke
A poet of sorts but I'm not enough to give you an eyesore
It's hard to swallow with your hands around my throat
I'm sick and tired of, I told you so
You can call me at home but I know better than to answer the phone
When people ask about the last time that we spoke
I let the stitches do the talking for the most part
And I leave out how you threw a lamp through my front window
Just burn the photographs and bury all the pages that we knew
In short this is a long goodbye to unexpecting you
i love blasting this song at 130 in the morning
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