I know you can't hear me
I know you're not there
I know you won't come back
you've gone
I don't remember where.

I know you don't listen
and that you're not afraid
I know that you've left me
it's okay
I'd do the same.

I'm sorry I hurt you
I'm sorry for much
sorry for all the good times
and the bad
and the plain kinds...

I wish you were here now
to dry all my tears
to fight all my fears
that sneak from under the bed
when I don't have the strength to face them.

Then again, now that I think
you always were there
you always were fighting
you always were laughing
you were always the type I could count on.

And though I pretend to be solid
the one weeping willow in Hell
the one you can rely on to have shade in the heat
I realize now...
you were the water.

"the time has come" the walrus said
the saying ringing in my head;
he talks of other things
of ships and shoes and sealing wax
and how his words still ring.

"The time has come," the walrus says
he smiles as he speaks
and as his utternace rhymes its way
my mind begins to rock and sway
like the sea that's boiling hot
like the ship that leaks...

He speaks in riddles, tongues and taunts
he's baffling, a modern daunt
but despite his words, despite my ears
ignoring those inclined to tears
disregard the madness in the brain
it's plain, its simple, and inane
the Walrus knows the secrets of
the Looking Glass, the World and Love
for what enemy could ever hold one close
than one who knows the deadly dose
of violent poison, of concoction crazed
but a lunatic who spends his days
wandering the seashore around midnight
half in dark, half daylight
shouting to the pigs with wings
"the time has come! to talk of other things."