Pull over to the side and let go. It didn't really mean that much to me. It was just my excuse for saying so. Cigarette stained mumbling means nothing. Still I keep making excuses. It's the same bitter bite as the ice on the window pane, your flannel shirt charade, your solo cup of wine, your ambiguity, my attempt not to try when I'm talking to you and I'm pretty sure you're drunk too. I don't remember what you said, I'm too busy watching your lips while you speak. I think it's the weather that's got me feeling so down. I can't stand myself when you don't come when I call. It's a sea change. It's the seasons change. It's a secret in your dirty apartment. Why am I still waiting for something to happen? Nothing will happen.