I give you my insanity and the few neurons I have left...

He's gone for days and tells me he is busy, but just weeks earlier he said that if we were together, I would be his world. Something doesn't compute. In a world where most of our contact is via the electronic device clipped firmly to your hip, it just doesn't compute.

I deserve better, and yet, I still hope that what you are saying is true. That you have been busy... Now tell me that your fingers are broken, your electricity has been turned off, and that some band of gypsies has stolen you away; I might be stupid enough to believe you.

"...If one day you were to decide
To leave again from here
I'd close every door
So that you could never leave..."