So here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts one more experience one more entry in a diary self-penned. Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride. Too late to say I love you. Too late to restage the play. Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday. I’m losing on the swings I’m losing on the roundabouts. I’m losing on the swings I’m losing on the roundabouts. Too much too soon too far to go too late to play the game is o-ver the game is o-ver.               u> u> Yet another emotional suicide   repeat these chords until you get sick of ’em or   until you reach...: ... the game is over.... I act the role in classic style of a martyr carved with a twisted smyle To bleed the lyrics for this song to write the rites to right my wrongs An epitaph to a broken dream to exorcise this silent scream A scream that’s borne from sorrow etc.... Promised wedding now a wake The >Abm over his shoulder and cry. Sit and chew on daffodils and struggle to answer why? repeat with just one variation: ..has gone solo in the game I’ve gone solo in the game.