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 b**h 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...