Lovers will get drunk and flutter. 
Then run dry, and scavenge. 
Falling to the cold but I won't be one. 
It seems to me that sweet sincerity, she's just a myth 
these days. 
Here's your anniversary. 
Ten years down the drain. 
Pull the curtains. 
The plot's been given away. 
The artful chase and eloquent dance, 
just a futile sway between the eyes, the lips and the 
soft breath. 
It's a bullshit give and take, for what you will. 
And then it becomes a reluctant mistake. 
Here's your anniversary. 
Ten years down the drain. 
And everyone knows everything about being alone, but I 
still don't.