I'm not drinking tonight; but I still feel queasy. I'm sure as hell deserving, after everything I did to you. So what the hell am I still doing in your room? "It's not me, it's you." Have we changed? Considering things, I still feel the same. Stumbling at this rate, I'll never change. I swear that I tried, but this time was a goodbye. I've been avoiding places that I know you've been and spending time with good friends. I still remember last December, so what the Hell am I still doing in your room? "It's not me, it's you." If I'm thinking about you, it's not because I want to. If I'm talking to you, I don't want to.