I am letting the telephone ring
cause I don't want to know why.
I don't want to hear you explain.
I don't want to hear you cry.
I have written so much about you.
So much I thought I knew.
Words like water used to flow.
Now what could I possibly have to say?
She is someone I don't even know.
And all the things that you've given to me,
I see now were simply reparations.
They were gifts of your guilt, they were my preparation.
I know I should be mature,
keep my feet on the floor,
but for some reason,
I just don't want them anymore.
I know this shouldn't be important compared to you and I,
but I can still hear my questions,
and I can still hear you.
I can still hear you lie.
Now vicariously, I have her in me.
I want to peel off my skin, let the water wash in.
You always said that I was hiding, that I was hiding from you.
But you are capable of things I could not do.
You are capable of things I could not do.
I remember how you pretended,
how you pretended to touch me.
I remember how I couldn't bring myself to believe.
I remember wondering what was wrong, what was wrong?
How could I be so naive, how could I be so naive?
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