I was just a clover, I was just a pawn
in the pages of a prologue. You wrote it out and erased it all,
and I wasn't privy to trips over to Santa Fe.
Were you just so busy that you let the damn thing get away?
And you wrote a new beginning
and it really lets your story spin
and the characters, they're not as shallow
and the plot, it's not as dull and slim
and my better half is just digging deep
to laugh off the irony that you're so self-absorbed
and here you say, "It's not you, no. It's me."
Someday soon, I won't think about you
Someday soon, I won't care about you
I didn't know about your weekend in New Mexico
You were hundreds of miles out without any need to come back home
And my better half is just obsolete and it all turned to shit on me
I'm burnt out, and I'm numb, turning pages to read the words that I've become
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