I Can Be a Page in Your Notebook.

The peanut gallery in my head
wants to hear how I've coped.
But I told you all along
that I'd kill what I held close.

I'm cancer, and I swear it.
A filthy, damned disease.
Sweetheart, I did you a favor.
Ridding you of me.

Nobody seems to buy it,
they don't believe my words.
Maybe now they'll see,
just look what I've done to her.

When you're old and fading,
you'll think back to me.
Or maybe you'll have forgotten
my sour memories.

I hate it that you're crying,
but I do it all the time.
I'm sorry I broke promises,
and that your stars won't shine.

Babygirl, I'm cancer.
That's what the rest will say.
For your tears, I'm sorry....
And all the time I stole away.