i go out on a friday
to get out, get away
and yet i find
each and every time
the conversation leads
to something i need
deep down, i'm locked up
my heart is held in this cup
filled to the brim
with memories of him
how many letters, memories will
it take to make it spill?
time and again i try
to move on, to hate you, to cry
but it doesnt stop
my heart will always drop
at the mention of anything
that in it holds a ring
of the familiarity of you.
your country, your sport, a blue
that's the same as your eyes.
in it all i can only despise
the attachment i hold
to a flame thats growing old.
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