“If it makes you less sad, I’ll move out of this state You can keep to yourself, I’ll keep out of your way And if it makes you less sad, I’ll take your pictures all down Every picture you paint, I will paint myself out It’s cold as a tomb, and it’s dark in your room When I sneak to your bed to pour salt in your wounds So call it quits, or get a grip You say you wanted a solution; you just wanted to be missed”