The Leaver

An empty box is what remains
Of the gifted love we had come to raise
Confusing all sorts of faith
And conceiving life out of our brains

We had rode our hopes to existence
Shifting from passion to patience
Switching from excess to absence
Struggling with constant deprivations

And now

An empty life is what remains
After we fought hard and nothing came
But a fucking sticky weariness
And some bitter taste of dream waste

I am the leaver, it could have been you
I am the leaver, it would have been you
I am the leaver, it should have been you.