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.

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