All the things I'd like to say are already making a tired stack. They're filling me up and weighing me down. So I'm sorry if I walk a bit slower, or choke on my words. I'm sorry if I take longer, in this little mess, to find words at all. I'm sorry for crying, but I suppose I already said that. So I'm sorry I said it, and I'm terribly sorry that I know I'll say it again. I'm sorry to the ground for the extra weight. I'm sorry if it's harder to pick me up before you'd like to gently let me down.
"Complications of the heart always you leave you torn apart. Now you're careful what you fall into."