We are nothing like our past,

Although we run when it starts to feel like summer,

Because in those days there was always enough love to go around

Or somebody else to give it to.

Because in those days

Somebody was running around trying to save everybody,

although nobody was getting saved.

So the hero of this story doesn’t do a very good job,

He doesn’t even have a name.

The hero of this story is a stranger, just like you,

Some sickness, some fever I am learning to live without

The hero of this story has to learn that you-

Have nothing to do with happiness.

There’s no truth in this story, although they tell you,

That nobody beautiful ends up alone

If the hero looks closely, there are bodies in the water

These dead men have nothing to do with you and everything to do with him,

The hero dreams of you, you might be married or happy or both,

In these dreams there’s a hospital canteen and not enough to go around

Some stranger shivering under cheap lights

He was going to be a father, but not anymore, and that is just one of those things,

That is not the hero’s problem.

Some might argue that you are the hero of this story,

Because it seems to be all about you

But somebody must play the bloodsucker,

The devil’s advocate,

And everyone likes the villain much more anyways.

Your voice down the telephone line, reminding me of wasted potential,

Reminding the hero that you should be forgotten.