The end, my friend

When something is gone, a void is created.
She fills this void with what she thinks she needs.
She really is just going to create
What she cannot handle


We are not friends any more.
She deems me not good enough.
A waste of time she says.
So was the time I was with her.

I have nothing to show for it.
Other than a pair of faded blue jeans
A bottle of contrived courage
And a string of metal links

This, my friend is the end

Every day we are screwed over
Every day we get out of bed
In the hope that that day
Will be the day that makes
All the pain and anguish worth while

Well, this be not that day.
This, my friend is the end