Wasted
The quiet that takes the place of silence that takes the place of your voice.
You're right reasons are dumb and I'm just talking too much.
And I want to be alone with what I am, wasted.
The cruelest voice comes back to me.
The cruelest thing, you think you didn't know me.
It's alright, I am on the outside now, smiling, but eyes don't lie.
You're right, reasons are dumb and I'm just talking too much.
And I want to be alone with what I am, wasted.
I'll just come apart or something.
No one could be more empty than I am and I would take it all back if I could, but I can't.
Autor(es): Letters to Cleo