| Looking back, it makes me sick
 | 
| Despite the years that ran away
 | 
| The bitter aftertaste is there
 | 
| I loved you, fucked up girl
 | 
| Constantly on the verge of sinking
 | 
| You drank like a black hole
 | 
| And with all the medication
 | 
| It was a fatal cocktail in your brain
 | 
| And you fell down the stairs
 | 
| Laughed or cried for nothing
 | 
| I was ashamed, I couldn’t help
 | 
| But love you, irrationally
 | 
| We spent two years together
 | 
| Two years to mend our cracks
 | 
| Watching the sun die on the roofs
 | 
| You stopped drinking
 | 
| And we savored the victory
 | 
| Bored as two mussels in the sea
 | 
| Watching movies without listening
 | 
| Walking the dog as all neighbors did
 | 
| Believing that we couldn’t be normal
 | 
| And live like everyone else
 | 
| Looking back, it makes me sick
 | 
| Despite the years that ran away
 | 
| I can’t say exactly when
 | 
| We reached the point of dislocation
 | 
| Where our bright white illusions
 | 
| Crumbled beyond repair
 | 
| Everything was broken
 | 
| And I began to hate you
 | 
| I wanted you to relapse
 | 
| Betrayed, slapped, insulted
 | 
| I manage to drag you down
 | 
| Even lower than when we met
 | 
| You awoke a beast
 | 
| Nestled in a corner of my head
 | 
| Looking back, it makes me sick
 | 
| Despite the years that ran away
 | 
| The bitter aftertaste is there
 | 
| The last time I heard of you
 | 
| You were in rehab, one more time
 | 
| I never saw you again
 | 
| But I remember your number
 | 
| I could dial it with my eyes closed
 | 
| And sometimes at night
 | 
| When it’s cold in the streets
 | 
| I refrain from calling you
 | 
| To make sure you’re not dead |