E.B.

Im permanently in you

Like the ink in your tattoos

Im sorry I never replied,

When you asked if i died

I had better things to do

And now my memory feels broke

Its what I tug on when I cope

Its how to get by, its how I survive

When it all seems a joke

I guess I am the punchline

Im sorry I didnt have the time

The phone works both ways

Remember those good days

Of course the fault is mine