How do you think you have the 411 on me? I gave you a glimpse of a shadow, and now you think you know me. Fools. You don't know. Hypocritical, maybe because your relationship with your mother want a great one, so criticize mine like a pack of drama-hungry wildebeests. I can't even loathe you because I care that little.
And what's up with you, sailor boy? You really think I care about you? No, because to my knowledge you don't know the first thing about yourself. It sucks to be you, struggling to maintain your side of the war that you don't even know why you're fighting. So you think you can find solace and comfort in me, but you couldn't be further from the truth.
Oh, the rest if you, dancing a familiar waltz... I pity you with some minute degree of my being. How meaningful is the tune you dance to? Must be some killer of a song, but I see your sorrow and I know your restless spirit. And yet you continue to dance as the tears mingle with the blood that flows out of your soul with longing to pulse meaning.