Farewell to a Friend

You make yourself a new name and you get a nice job.
Doing what you love in a town far away from home.
It's a good life, even if you don't appreciate it.
It's hard to appreciate what you have,
when all you feel is what you're missing.
(Ha, you whiner.)

And yet you end up with a knife in your heart.
A serrated blade found its way in there. Why
did she pull it out?

Philosophy and politics aren't the way for you,
you think you should do what you can't stop doing.
And that's good, it's probably healthy for you.
Let some of that tension out, turn it into heat.
It's starting a fire under someone.
(What are friends for?)

And here you are with a knife in your heart
and your lover's hand on the handle
pulling it out. Why?

I didn't like you, man. You were too proud of
your non-existent failure. You're a sore winner.
And there's nothing worse than those.
Your distorted reality was bound to set you free
(sooner or later).

But I keep thinking of the serrations,
tearing cardiac tissue on the exit,
and I keep thinking why
did she pull it out?