All the friends you thought you had have left

And you blame them for such cunning, deft, and cheer

Well, all plots end in death, my dear

Though you probably had it coming

At least as much as anyone

We all die alone, friends or no, friends or none

But any gun on the wall in the opening act

Must be fired by the call of the curtain, it's a fact

And just because you love someone doesn't mean they'll love you back

I hate these lonely days, I hate this deep malaise

I hate this time, these sounds, these scenes, these schemes

These reams and reams of paper seem so

Soulless and dole-less and pointless and friendless

Pitiful, damnable, horrendous

When I close my eyes, the words I see

Over and over, endlessly are

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you

You're just a waste of time, a waste of space, an empty plot, a basket case

A tired cliché

I wish I was guileless

I wish I was guileless

I wish I was childish

Or maybe less selfish and steep

Less selfish and steep

But I'd settle for some sleep