I am healthy, young.  Then why do you break me a little when you decide to walk away and never come back?  You told me you would.  I just didn't think it'd be today.  So I sit here, sweating, damned, just as miserable as I was before, when the trees were bare and the light was spare and things seemed bleak.  I see sadness in your eyes while you gently cut my throat.

People like us were meant to disappoint.  How can we break free from pain, ultimately?  It keeps calling me back, holding my face up to the mirror.  These lights aren't very forgiving.  But when you do manage to turn the lights off, the smoke no longer exists.