all these words never said
and the happy songs that
turned sad in my head
i should have given up by now

but you know how i am

i have no more a larger piece of your life
than that which you give me and
this is just another worn out story
in a series of worn out stories recycled

the world is just a collection
of the same stories (the same)
and as i gaze at the repeating sunset
i drink this bitter medicine (like it's ambrosia)

this is not the first of its kind
and neither will it be the last
it has happened to many people
and will happen to many more

it’s just the same story
the same, the same
the same as how i
see your eyes when i close mine
it’s just the same
the same (the same)
different faces, different times
but the same (just the same)

if we can’t have things
the way we want
one day i hope
we’ll meet in the ocean
as ashes, burnt and tired
just like how we said
we wanted to die

and we’ll lament over the living
as we did when we were alive
and you would smile
the way i always wanted to see
carefree, free and wild (young and wild)

maybe only after death
can we be free of this cursed narrative
this eternal rehash of overused cliches
and i’ll finally see you laugh (finally)

i hope you keep the piece of my heart
that i gave you a long time ago, with care
so you can give it back to me when
we meet after our stories have ended

and in the shimmering sunset over
a glittering sea
we will pass each other by, and
in the ephemeral dusky hour
our stories, however heavy
will end, as the sunset
dips over the horizon
for the last time