On The Way To Dad's Testo

I can't talk to you.
You just can't see through to anything I do.
I just wish I could tell you.
How much do you know?
I can never tell.
I'm sick of writing songs about killing myself.

I close my eyes and remember all the times you said,
"I promise things will get better."
But they still haven't yet. I don't blame you, but I blame someone.
I'm still stuck here.

I keep trying to forget all those things that happened, I just can't.
Time to unclench my fists.
You just can't imagine how I live.