What Have I Done

It seems this heartache can’t stop stinging,
It woke me up earlier this evening,
The living room still misses living,
And honestly I’m hardly in it.
How ‘bout we give in to the feelings?
It doesn’t sound that much appealing,
Now, as I dangle from the ceiling,
Well, quite the end in all its meanings.

But what have I done to deserve this?
Was it my fault, don’t answer now.
What am I supposed to do with this
Leftover love I stashed away for you?

“God, here it comes, he can’t stop whining,
They’ve been a mess since January,”
“I heard she stayed just for the money,”
“I heard she stayed ‘cause he’s pathetic.”
How ‘bout we give in to the critics?
Not much can hurt now, can’t it, darling?
Now, as I dangle from the ceiling,
I get it now, I’m late, I’m sorry

But what have I done to deserve this?
Was it my fault, or was it yours?
What am I supposed to do with this
Leftover questions I still have for you?

But what have I done to deserve this?
Wasn’t my fault, can promise that.
What am I supposed to do with this
Tremendous hate I incubate for you?