{*}

You talk about life, you talk about death and everything in between like it's nothing and the words are easy. You talk about me and you talk about you and everything I do like it's something that needs repeating. I don't need an alibi or for you to realize the things we left unsaid are only taking space up in your head. Make it my fault, win the game, point the finger, place the blame. It doesn't matter now 'cause I don't care. If half of what you said is true and half of what I didn't do could be different, would it make it better?