Did I mention that I'm dancing with a skeleton?
It's not like you care,
even though it's you there,
the skeleton is you,
because you're dead inside too.
I'm disgusted yet I dance,
why do I dance with you?
Oh lord, what are these things I do?
I know I'll never revive you,
so why do I try?
Why do I lie,
telling myself you'll be alright?
It's appalling, yes I know,
I'm figured that out before,
yet somehow I always end up on the floor,
while you lean against the door,
calling me a filthy whore.
Yet you're dead on the inside,
deader than a doornail,
write a letter in the mail,
get it send back cause it failed.