Tomorrow may never come
and still I tire of the confessions
endless attempts to the betterment
I'm as hollow as you
as empty as the guilt will let me be
still I'll confess them
the inclination of vindication
is as it is hinted
lured to the tensions of making amends
the pretences are as folly as they are assumed
and still I'll try
but when the time comes
you'll hear me
starving for it no more