Wish I could remember why it mattered to me. It
doesn't matter to me. It doesn't matter to me
anymore. Now that you're feeling fine, I'll
admit that - though I know it's coming down, and
see it shattering me - it doesn't matter to me,
and I'm not sadder for seeing it come.

I'm not going to run. I will just come when I am called.
You want to cut me off because I took too much,
but don't leave me alone. Take off your scarves,
your winter coat. The night's too cold. When we
met I should have said you're like a sister to
me, how all that kiss her just seem like puny
suitors I can see through, how none will do, not
for you, how it might as well just be us two.

And when I pulled you by the jacket from the
clattering street, you started flattering me, you
started saying I was so strong. String me along,
but I can't become all that I'm called.
And I can't claim to know what makes love die or grow,
but I can still take control and so refuse to just
go home, back down the hall. And as I crawl, as
finally all the false confetti blooms up in this
attic room, I'm going make my stand. I want to
see both of your hands put down the phone. I
won't let you go, although the moment stole my
self-control from us all and now it can only end
with a...