And now I finally see that the further we go we've only treading ground that we
already know. I could write you a song, send you a note, or empty out your trash
and buy a bucket full of diamonds but even the most beautiful of all roses must

someday crumble to dust and fade away. It's a certain tragedy. So it's on into
the lonely nights and all the rest of it. The empty space between me and the
sunken walls and feeling someone's hand around my neck choking away the life

that I have left. And I can finally see that the further I go I'm only treading
ground that I don't want to know. I'll probably hang upside down from wooden
rafters in my home and look at old photos of you. I miss the warmth of the

summer when we we're on our own, but now it's winter and my bones are cold.