This time I've wasted. The only thing matters is memories of the hope, the longing. No sense of belonging; it's pointless. I am the darkest part of the spectrum, where you thought you buried me. I am the death of everything you've loved, where you left me. (Now your soul is mine. I've told you a thousand times that i'm not happy until you're buried with me). This passion is pointless, useless and contrived. I'm only this bitter as long as you're alive.