Last Rites

I don't think you're serious enough
These things seem so tedious to me
Say what you want, but you're influenced by everything
Head first dives and sympathy set free

(Nestled in the grave I helped you dig
Finding comfort in these kinds of things
You still say to keep an open mind
My voice gets quieter every time I try)

Try to find another way to get out
Tracing your steps but you still find yourself blaming me
You're listening for the sounds that I have gone away
Folding myself in half but growing all the same
Trying to organize whatever still remains

I just don't think you're serious
I'm getting tired of feeling this
Of hearing this

I'm moving myself further away from the edge, and I'm hoping
I hope but I doubt you'll ever find out
The dirt above your head must be getting to you by now

As far as I can see from my footsteps is probably as far as I'll get
This place seems emptier without you, or so I thought