Obtuse. Pain and sound; these things torment you, weigh me down and I've nothing to say or do. While you suffer in your misery you're tongue-tied too. Why won't good things stop fleeting? Ask yourself, but no one is waiting for you. It's alright I haven't heard from you because no news is good news. Solemn, patient and left with my solitude. The malady of your mind - you can believe what you would like. Convince yourself you're alright - whatever helps you sleep at night. Such a sad view - your rise and fall with all the things that could go wrong - with all the things that we never saw. All the good things are gone.