like my point of view

being in the middle would mean that there are things on either side
but that's not right
i'm all alone

burned bridges and forgotten friends
drifting separation due to nothing at all
it's a pathetic sort of feeling when love just gutters out
not bang, not smash, just the dying whisper on a wind too weak to carry my words fourteen hundred miles
i'll blame the interloper for all this mess until i can't deny what's true
i'm just not good enough for her