My INTERPRETATION

You talk about life, you talk about death,

And everything in between,

Like it's nothing, and the words are easy.

You talk about me, you talk about you,

And everything I do,

Like it's something, that needs repeating.

I don't need an alibi or for you to realize,

The things we left unsaid,

Are only taking space up in our heads.

Make it my fault, win the game

Point the finger, place the blame

Address me up and down,

It doesn't matter now.

'Cause I don't care if I ever talk to you again. (X)

This is not about emotion,

I don't need a reason not to care what you say,

Or what happened in the end.

This is my interpretation,

It don't, don't make sense.

The first two weeks turn into ten ^{dunno yet},

I hold my breath and wonder when it'll happen ^end,

Does it really matter? (YES IS IT)

If half of what you said is true,

And half of what I didn't do could be different,

Would it make it better? ( I HOPE SO)

If we forget the things we know.

Would we have somewhere to go?

The only way is down, I can see that now.

mika, aiman edited