i’m empty like those promises you made
i’m broken like a glass of champagne after a long night
i just want to cry but then you win.

it’s not black and white anymore, there’s nasty grey bits that we have to deal with
is that so hard? is it wrong? painful? disgusting?
it’s called being an adult. welcome to the club…

i wish i could go back and just not
because then you wouldn’t have to do this again
and again
and those promises wouldn’t be made
and those promises wouldn’t be empty
and those promises wouldn’t be broken

and I wouldn’t be broken by it all