It's Over It's Over

It's over, it's over
The day's at an end
My bed isn't made 'cause I didn't begin.

And all day long I'm lying to friends
“How are you doing?”
“Well I'm doing fine.”
“But your shoes are untied
And you look like a ghost.
And where is that smile that you used to wear
When you didn't spend time living life in a chair?

And you used to find solace in art and in friends
Now both of these things must find solace in you.
And this city's just a picture, and you're just a sham.
And the way we'd done speak and focus are all a part of your shitty plan
to manipulate your life and being that you can't understand.

And your shoes are untied,
And you look like a ghost.
And the golden shoes we bought her,
Are what you miss the most.
Except when you were six years old,
When your mother kept you close.”