I remember every time,
every year and in every rhyme,
the look on your face
when you used to say
that I didn't have a trace
of responsability in me.

you see,
I pretend not to listen,
anyway,
I used to cry before crawling
alone in to bed
until I had no more tears to be shed.

if you were gone,
I was fucked,
you preached.

you are no god and
today you are long gone,
well, at least,
my faith in you is.

and guess what,
I'm still living,
still breathing.
not perfectly,
still stumbling sometimes,
through the crossroads,
of my mind,
trying to figure what kind
of love is this that erodes
and generates such pain.
what's there to gain?

although life's
not a competition
I can tell you:
I'm wining,
'cause I still have
the least bit
of dreamin',
in any other heart beat.

if you could, what would you do?
don't mind answering, just press repeat.