And this land I wander is strange,
a house of dead-end hallways,
that leave me with nothing to gain.
And every time you come into range,
you seem to fade away, always.
I really wish you'd explain.
And nothing ever seems to change,
except the knowledge that everyone betrays.
We all bear a mark of Cain.
And as you leave me to arrange
my thoughts into this melodic phrase,
I only wish I could bring myself to complain.
And all the lies that interchange,
won't mean anything one of these days,
because I'm the one with the most to gain.
(and you, my dear, are the one with the most to lose.)