All the friends you thought you had have left
And you blame them for such cunning, deft
And cheer. 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