It's the tearing sound of love-notes. Casting out the gray stained windows. And the view outside is sterile. But I'm only two cubes down. I'll photocopy all the things that we could be. If you took the time to notice me. But you can't now I don't blame you. And it's not your fault that no one ever does. But you don't work here anymore. Its just a vacant 3 by 4. And they might fill your place. A temporary stand-in for your face. It happens all the time. And I can't help but think I'll die alone. So I'll spend my time with strangers. A condition that is terminal. In this water-cooler romance. And its coming to a close. We could be in the park and dancing by a tree. Kicking over blades we see. Or a dark beach with a black view. As pin-pricks in the velvet catch our fall. But you don't work here anymore. Its just a vacant 3 by 4. And they might fill your place. A temporary stand-in for your face. It happens all the time. And I can't help but think I'll die alone. I know you don't work here anymore [x6]. Sometimes I think I'll die alone [x3]. Live and breath and die alone. Sometimes I think I'll die alone [x3]. I'd think I'd love to die alone (many times)