You think I don't know what's going on?
I know you: you're scheming.
You're working out how long you'll have to stay with me.
You're figuring out how to let me go.
I know.

Do you think you can hide inside your mind?
You don't trust me.
You don't trust anyone.
You think this won't last.
You're going to try your darndest to give me reason to leave.
But I won't.

I can hear your thoughts too clearly,
(but something tells me they're mine).
Something whispers of devils, and fatalistism, and consciousness,
and something tells me to let go.