So my friend, we meet again in the least likely circumstances. No honesty in who we claim to be.
Shame and lust, like web and dust, have covered up the best of us, hiding me from you and hiding you from me.
So my friend, you thought it'd end. You thought you'd seen the last of it. Addiction or affliction, either way.
Point and click to get your fix, standards only in statistics, each casual encounter growing more and more and more and more the same.
I'll meet you in the alleyway, but never in the light of day. If anyone were to discover the secrets we keep locked away, we'd see the way that worlds collide when friends are faced with choosing sides. All the while, the fact remains - you're going to have to face yourself someday.
So my friend, the story ends with severed lines of communication. Same old story, nobody's surprised.
A one night stand, a master plan, no matter what we've got at hand, the issue that remains is that we've both been living double lives. I wish the best to all the rest who've lived their lives and not confessed, gone to bed and curled and cried with stress and wanted nothing but to die alone and be forgotten, rather than to live a life gone rotten, being ashamed to love. But if we can learn to love ourselves, the world is ours, we're going to be fine.