A half full full-size bed in a home that you wish you’d forget. Could’ve been there when you woke up in the morning but I woke up in a car instead. Would you ruin me like you used to?
My remains will become the rain that will pour on your grave, on the day that your mother can’t contain it no more, while she begs on her knees saying, “Why can’t you tell me what I did to deserve this? Oh God, just send me to Hell.” But she’s no sinner, no matter how bitter; how poor.
Will you ever get used to the fact that I won’t be there when you wake up in the morning now? Just a half full full-size bed. No home. Just a house.