You talk about life, you talk about death and everything in between, like it´s nothing and the words are easy. You talk about me, and you talk about you and everything I do, like it´s something that needs repeating. I don´t need an alibi or for you to realize the things we left unsaid are only taking space up in our head. Make it my fault, win the game. Point the finger, place the blame. It does me up and down, it doesn´t matter now. Cause I don´t care if I ever talk to you again. This is not about emotion. I don´t need a reason not to care what you say or what happened in the end. This is my interpretation and it don´t, don´t make sense.