6am the room is cold and you're not there
  the ceiling fan could really use some dusting
  looking around your pictures Ive not taken down
  I remember the days
  you always had something to say...
  now the storm has faded and you're gray
  you aint got a god damn thing to say
  looking back at the way things used to be
  you lost everything when you left me
  you kept me down
  you picked me up to push me out
  along the way I figured out that I miss me
  because we were we
  you didnt leave no space for me
  your hairs too long your clothes are worn
  you're constantly a bitch to me
  you kept me down
  you picked me up to push me out
  its all in vein
  aint got a god damn thing to say
  the things you say...