And I see her bent over a notebook staring hard past her words Feels like most of the time, I'm only somewhat there So I might whine about the distance or write up some new fiction Hope for some condolences while she draws idly She says to "enjoy my little misfires," and "the fact that I'm alive," - I'm sketching dramatics into every line Cause I'm not on the right path, just the one of least resistance And despite this trite existence, I'm getting better all the time I'm getting better all the time And I want to be scared of the truth in fiction and all of our heartbreak correspondence because the thought of a fleeting impression, - it scares me to d**h So I might whine about the distance because I care so much I'm sick, and you'll probably just be pissed and I didn't even think of it Cause I'm not on the right path, just the one of least resistance And despite this trite existence, I'm getting better all the time I'm getting better all the time