| Looking back, it makes me sick
|
| Despite the years that ran away
|
| The bitter aftertaste is there
|
| I loved you, fucked up girl
|
| Constantly on the verge of sinking
|
| You drank like a black hole
|
| And with all the medication
|
| It was a fatal cocktail in your brain
|
| And you fell down the stairs
|
| Laughed or cried for nothing
|
| I was ashamed, I couldn’t help
|
| But love you, irrationally
|
| We spent two years together
|
| Two years to mend our cracks
|
| Watching the sun die on the roofs
|
| You stopped drinking
|
| And we savored the victory
|
| Bored as two mussels in the sea
|
| Watching movies without listening
|
| Walking the dog as all neighbors did
|
| Believing that we couldn’t be normal
|
| And live like everyone else
|
| Looking back, it makes me sick
|
| Despite the years that ran away
|
| I can’t say exactly when
|
| We reached the point of dislocation
|
| Where our bright white illusions
|
| Crumbled beyond repair
|
| Everything was broken
|
| And I began to hate you
|
| I wanted you to relapse
|
| Betrayed, slapped, insulted
|
| I manage to drag you down
|
| Even lower than when we met
|
| You awoke a beast
|
| Nestled in a corner of my head
|
| Looking back, it makes me sick
|
| Despite the years that ran away
|
| The bitter aftertaste is there
|
| The last time I heard of you
|
| You were in rehab, one more time
|
| I never saw you again
|
| But I remember your number
|
| I could dial it with my eyes closed
|
| And sometimes at night
|
| When it’s cold in the streets
|
| I refrain from calling you
|
| To make sure you’re not dead |