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 All eyes on  calendar
 Another year I  of total indifference
 To here, the days pile 
 With decisions to be made, I'm sure  of them were wrong
 Into this  I send myself
  with these drinks I plan to collapse
 And forget this wasted year, these wasted 
  friends, they disappear
 And I'm sorry about the phone call  needing you
 Some decisions  don't make
 I guess it's just like  or not wanting to
 There are some things  can't fake
 I guess  it's typical
 To cling to memories you'll never get back 
 And to sort  old photographs
 Of a summer  ago or a friend that you used to know
 And there below
 His frozen face
 You wrote the  and that ancient date, that ancient date
 And you can't believe that he's  gone
 When all that's  is a fucking song and
 I'm sorry about the phone call;  waking you.
 I know  it is late,
 But thank  for talking, because I needed to.
 Some things just  wait.