If your eyes closed and your fingers circling above a map And the simple realization you were never coming back In the silence, I can whisper all the things I want to say But your eyes just have a way of telling me it's all in vain You're beginning to succeed in slowly pushing me away This is not life or your home, its money and a place to stay This desire, for attention, you're afraid of growing old A reflection, it appears that you've become a bag of bones You are here, but you are not who I remember You are here, but I don't recognize what's left You are here, but you've grown sick of just surviving You are here, but who knows for how long But who knows for how long