6am the room is cold and you're not there

the ceiling fan could really use some dusting

looking around your pictures Ive not taken down

I remember the days

you always had something to say...

now the storm has faded and you're gray

you aint got a god damn thing to say

looking back at the way things used to be

you lost everything when you left me

you kept me down

you picked me up to push me out

along the way I figured out that I miss me

because we were we

you didnt leave no space for me

your hairs too long your clothes are worn

you're constantly a bitch to me

you kept me down

you picked me up to push me out

its all in vein

aint got a god damn thing to say

the things you say...