Friends?

My illusion of you has broken Time and time again And now we've stopped as lovers Can we start as friends I smell you in my covers I miss you in my bed I can't imagine others I'd rather soon be dead I'll fall into a pattern Of loathing and self hate I'll start to fill the void with vices Gathered and innate I'll want to tell you everything The burdens and the bores But how can we be friends When there was nothing there before What was it for What was it for What was it for What was it for What was it for What was it for What was it for