There is no drawing of clear and definite lines
No closing curtain
no swilling of the mouth
to start again
and taste anew

life clings to us
and slows us down
all of our movements
have made their mark
and this is hell:
consequence.

I thought it had been mutual
I thought she had agreed
I thought she needed something new
but all she needs is me
so I'm the finisher,
the one who swings the axe.

I thought she was in full control
I thought she'd had enough
I thought she wanted something else
but all she wants is love,
the love I gave,
that I've taken back.

So now I am the only one
who chooses what will be
will I make her story end
in tears and misery
or will I lift her up,
to save her heart?

How can I be made to choose
when I am incomplete
when decision is a curse for me
and chains have set me free?
If I lift her up,
I'll come apart.

Question is,
are you still in love with her?
The answer is,
I am unsure now,
remind me,
what's love?

Question is,
if you were,
wouldn't you just know?
The answer is,
I don't think I'd make her happy,
even so.

I would bring her down,
and any other lover.
I need to be alone,
for everyone's sakes,
so how do I make this easier on her?

I have to be hard,
and cold,
and that old Thomas Hardy fucker.
Everything I never wanted to be,
cause all the pains I never wanted her to feel,
and hope,
in being so sharp,
the cut removes the longing
from her heart.