She dances in and out on waves of broken glass,
A memory of better times, a perfection that couldn't last,
I can reach out and touch her if I don't mind the pain,
But the cuts and scars means nothing's the same,
Still I cling like an addict addicted to the thought,
Of a woman who so long ago I should have forgot.
I offer myself a short distraction,
Some sort of break in the breaking reaction,
But when the music dies down and the streets get cold,
I run through conversations and things I was told,
Like that three word phrase that we used to use,
How quickly the feeling of love turned to "I hate you"s.