Mary, what looked like a mirage
Made of glimmering silver in sunken eyes
It was actually there in the palm of my hand
But your existence is widely debated
I'm godless and wrecked
But I can't live by those stakes
The semantics are totally outdated
And the love I had is never enough
It bores me and and leaves me frustrated
I'm the last to make it home
I'm the last to call it off
I'm the last to meet my bed
And last to bring home the bread
And last to make it home
Mary, you were online
The sociopathic part of me
Hit the "like"
In the hopes I'd coax you out of my derelict fantasy
A bump in the road
Turned into a fissure I currently live in
Though I am a soundboard to some
With myself I am not so forgiving
I'm the last to make it home
I'm the last to call it off
I'm the last to meet my bed
And last to bring home the bread
And last to make it home
I'm the last to make it home
I'm the last to call it off
I'm the last to meet my bed
Last to bring home the bread
Last to make it home
Mary, looked like a mirage
Glimmering silver in sunken eyes
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