The one that chose the boar The pig, hyena, the swine. What comes before the end of the rush Is most certainly the wine. He's the one that took the name Then scattered it around. Sometimes we lose ourselves Because we never want to be found. Silence took my atmosphere Tears were my relief Sat and traced lines in the sand That were beyond my belief. I'd like to say I'm angry But that would be a lie Did you even once think of contacting me Did you even once ever try? Love is something tidy No, that isn't really true. What is, and always will be Is I really miss you.