I think the suicidal thoughts have finally caught up
So I may ask a dollar for the jukebox
I've lost myself being a cook for a diner
So nothing seems like it's going to change

I think I'm envious of all the couples walking around
So I may ask for your hand
I've lost myself composure this time
Falling and crying my eyes out like the bastard I've become
The worst part about it is nothing's is going to change about it