Oh what a day it's been.
The fool I was.
What a mess, what have I gone and done to you?
Just because I wanted to do good don't make it any use.
So, take this folded photograph away and don't you give it back
because I don't want to think about you or anybody else.
Maybe I'll just leave this town and find a field and just lay down
and sleep until I dream that song that could explain exactly what's gone wrong with me.
"What's wrong with me?" I'm all too often wondering.
I know there's nothing wrong with me, but I invent the strangest things.

Now there's an empty space where the garden was.
Everything dies just because.
Its been a real bad couple months and I just can't seem to adjust
to moods that swing like metronomes; go back and forth and to and fro.

I've tried, but I don't understand the weight of a human hand.
Every part escapes the reach and strength of both my hands and feet.

When I stop to think my heart does race at an uncomfortable pace
because the biggest problem that I have is that I don't know what makes me sad.
So I watch the days that come and go like I'm walking through the falling snow;
I can see a path, and trace it back, but it will melt and leave no track.
Well that's ok, because I've realized that even though I'm going to die
I know right now that I'm alive and that's enough to get me by.

Though your memory persists you know the past does not exist at all.