All the friends you thought you had have left And you blame them for such cunning, deft And cheer. All plots end in death, my dear Though you probably had it coming At least as much as anyone We all die alone, friends or no, friends or none But any gun on the wall in the opening act Must be fired by the call of the curtain. It's a fact And just because you love someone doesn't mean they'll love you back I hate these lonely days, I hate this deep malaise I hate this time, these sounds, these scenes, these schemes These reams and reams of paper seem so Soulless and dole-less and pointless and friendless Pitiful, damnable, horrendous When I close my eyes, the words I see Over and over, endlessly, are I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you You're just a waste of time, a waste of space An empty plot, a basket case A tired cliché I wish I was guileless I wish I was guileless I wish I was childish Or maybe less selfish and steep Less selfish and steep But I'd settle for some sleep