Correspondences

Dear Catherine,

Writing you must be the hardest thing I ever did

Forgive me,

I couldn't tell you that I felt so complicated

Release me

Thought you'd help me with the voice inside my head

But I was wrong

I could tell you 'bout the many nights I spent alone

And about all the insecurities that I have known

But I just want to close my eyes, I'm so tired

Think I've been talking to myself too many nights

I am sorry, I am sorry

(There's) nothing left for me to say

I am sorry, I am sorry

That I had to end this way

This is my suitcase packed for better times

And this is my favourite blade

To cut me up on a Saturdaynight

I guess these are the signs

Did I mentions I've got a rare collection of dreams

Hidden underneath my bed

And wrapped in a newspaper in that old drawer

Are all the words we never said

Now we're at the end of the line I have to say

I would have given it all for you

But to end the line that's what I'm gonna do

That's what I'm gonna do