'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable

And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table

No one can find the rewind button, girl.

So cradle your head in your hands

And breathe... just breathe,

Oh breathe, just breathe

So many 4 ams listening to songs of lost love, of despair, of melancholy, of anger...so many words and melodies, all mixed together and swimming around, like a flurry of random colours slapped carelessly onto a canvas. Writing, shedding tears. Over stories which don't come with rewind buttons. Wishing life was a dvd, and you could go back to watch the mistakes you made, and make them right. Something like a retake.

Lights.Camera.Action.

Perfection.

Regret is so beautiful, and winter blues don't get any better. The pre-requisites are already present, and so is the cold, your insides colder still. It's you who makes the so called bite actually hurt, it's what is inside that head of yours, aching to come out. That is what makes your palms tingle as you curl up in a ball under the covers and choke silently on the salt coming out of your eyes. Yes. That is what makes it click.

So what do you do?

Stay curled up tight, and grab that imaginary remote, switch on the motion picture inside your

head, and click, click,click. Changing channels and cds, because this is your show.

Pause.Stop.Rewind.Forward.Play.

Whatever you wish for. And all of it inside, but so real. It belongs to you, the secrets are all yours. And secretly, you long to go back, see what went wrong, while you're telling them its too late with a straight face.

What is the bigger joke?

2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song

If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,

Threatening the life it belongs to

And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd

Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud

And I know that you'll use them, however you want to