Luckily, no matter where you go in this world, it’s all a matter of perspective. A lot of things are dead, more than alive. I survived love songs written by a clueless boy who became the most gifted musician. I survived wanting to write him a love song of my own.
That was meant to be —ask if you don’t believe me.
It’s the hand we were dealt, you hear me straight! I’m to always disappoint, you will hate me. You should know why I’ve never mattered —It was meant to be.
You disowned me, nothing rattles you—nothing and no one.
Your incarceration was temporary, your two favorite words are your own name. Why couldn’t I be? Whatever.
It doesn’t make me any less excellent. Who defeats darkness in the name of true? I was going for perfect. I think my part, my hand, was thrown in —I had to. I had it, and always playing a game. I never told you, but you were so bad to play the game.
At least, I regretted losing. Losing to you was enough to change everything —Myself.
Blood debts are to be paid—time to pay them. This wasn’t about you! This was about me. I’ve known we wouldn’t get off easy. Fight, even when I think the fight is over.
You ride off into the sunset in your beat-up excuse for a car. What’s a fairy-tale ending? I don’t know, because the sunset—burns to the ground, taking you down with it. What can I say?
Payback’s a bitch.