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In those days, I was a train-wreck |
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I was lost in a sea of alcohol, irony, and unbridled self-pity |
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There were so many words I had to write |
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Confessions on my mind |
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I designed them and delivered them with reckless abandon |
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My tightly coiled repressed, frustrated past fading fast |
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I was constantly exploding |
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I was constantly screaming |
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The days moved slow and the nights dissolved into a thickening haze |
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Where I spoke with a tongue that wasn't mine to faces I couldn't recognize |
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There's so much I forget |
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There's so much more I'd like to |
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I'm through with the past, but the past isn't through with me |
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That's who I was when we first met in cathartic song |
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When I became the patron saint of the depressed and neglected |
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I left those days, those places, and that person all on tape |
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Absolved, I resolved to start again and never look back |
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But you want me where I was |
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And you still remind me |
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I'm through with the past |
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But the past isn't through with me |
