I've been flipping through my book of songs,
and I realized that you never escaped a page.
Every line that bleeds from this pen carries with it a thought of you.
A memory, or just the simple feeling that no matter what I do,
you're with me, in my mind and in my heart.
Even in my memories, the ones you love are the first to leave
and the pain you try to forget remains.
Eventually it carves a hole in your heart so deep,
you bleed to death and wonder how you ever stood a chance
