Correspondences

Dear Catherine,
Writing you must be the hardest thing I ever did
Forgive me,
I couldn't tell you that I felt so complicated
Release me
Thought you'd help me with the voice inside my head
But I was wrong

I could tell you 'bout the many nights I spent alone
And about all the insecurities that I have known
But I just want to close my eyes, I'm so tired
Think I've been talking to myself too many nights

I am sorry, I am sorry
(There's) nothing left for me to say
I am sorry, I am sorry
That I had to end this way

This is my suitcase packed for better times
And this is my favourite blade
To cut me up on a Saturdaynight
I guess these are the signs
Did I mentions I've got a rare collection of dreams
Hidden underneath my bed
And wrapped in a newspaper in that old drawer
Are all the words we never said
Now we're at the end of the line I have to say
I would have given it all for you
But to end the line that's what I'm gonna do
That's what I'm gonna do