To you1, who stole the best years of my life away from me
To you, who stole my teenage love affairs
To you, who made me cry so much because of a tiny detail which was pretty unremarkable, in the end
I'm trying to believe that life makes things right
But this particular thing, it made it wrong
That's why I can't look at you without feeling disgusted in my heart
Without feeling disguted in my mouth
Because I felt I was one too many
Because I felt I was one too many
I know that every ugly thing eventually goes away
But until then, I'm waiting
I'm waiting
I'm still waiting for the speeches to patch up the hearts
I'm still waiting for the speeches to cover with flowers
Those moments I will keep as a big memory full of holes
And I'm waiting, and I'm waiting, and I'm waiting
1. Plural form.