Holding onto remnants of an unlikely redemption. We dance to the dischordant tune of resentment and remorse. I fail to see the distance that glazes your eyes Call it hopeful thinking. Surrounded by the droning of persistent background chatter. I fail to make out any distinctive verbal chain. I'm too busy trying to make sense of the words behind your words. I was thinking that one day it'd be better possibly. Call it hopeful thinking. And I was indisposable until I was obsolete. I always thought that maybe you'd see me differently. And every single time I make an effort, or gesture, Only ends in my admission of failure. But you know me well, you know that I have hardly given up. Call it hopeful thinking, and call me when you finally realize just how much you still mean.