Tonight I'm racing fast as always, 
like a sprinter through the hallways of my mind, 
the maze is deep, 
and I can't eat, sleep, chew or raise my voice to tell the [bad word] without a fight, 
and I may be wrong but I'm never far from right  

I don't miss your kiss, 
the softness of your lips upon my face, 
I dont miss it. 
And I dont miss the way we'd move & sway,  
like a picture perfect painting of two lovers in the sun, 
so tell me why do I always end up in this position, 
its like the Spanish inquisition, 
thats the last [bad word] time that I ignore my intuition, its the last time.