If they gave me a coin for everytime I asked myself
Why I always feel the need to place things on a shelf
These useless wares of memories which don't mean a thing
Are only reminding me of a past that is quiet wearing thin
Postcard nr 23 says with all my love, wish you were here
Next thing that I know is he took off and disappeared
Then I got this book, she gave it to me when I turned twentyfour
But I don't know what's left of her, cause we're not talking anymore
So what makes you think you're different, whining about words like trust
I'm starting to get tired to walk through clouds of dust
This never ending hope of someday waking up without a doubt to see
But I guess it's just a way of life and it doesn't sound like me
Why do you have to make sure that we are such good friends
When you're only willing to keep that promise as long as my faith bends
Never said I'll stake my life on this and that is just because
I know what those words mean and that's not real to us