It ain't Christmas without you.
There's no happy Near Year without you.
Is 2011 supposed to be a better year? Is this the year we used to talk about? Aren't free now; didn't we used to that we were trapped? I see you, I watch you walk and fly about.
Me? I'm bound in chains, and you took the keys four months ago. I see you taunt me with them everyday. I see you smile, I hate you as much as I love. But I don't hate you at all, and I love you far too much.
(I'm like dirt to you, but don't worry, I'm used to that feeling. You'd just never know because you've never known the real me. No one has. She just lives in the cage all alone, much like the me that's chained together. But now they have similarities of loneliness.)
I'll win this demented game, and maybe then I'll say I'm sorry, and the whole world will hear.
Or maybe in a miracle, you'll say it first.
(Or we could go down a road that diverged in two parts, and each take a different one, and never see each other again.)
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