One more gone, one less thing to live for. Two left, must get rid of them.
The death of a memory is much easier than the death of a person, so I must desert them all.
Let me be a thing of the past, I'm sick of the present and scared of the future.
I can't have her, but now you're gone too?
Sent here to do your dirty work? A pretty shitty thing to do.
Three months will blow away with the change of the seasons, and I will be left behind in the daze of summer.