Tuesday in the morning, I walk outside to a police car, pulling up to my yard. Goodbye dear stepfather, I punch my fist right through the wall. Now that it's over, I don't know how to feel, moving to California, where I won't have to deal. So what you think? Do you think it would make you sad? What you think? Do you think it would make you sorry? Well I'm sorry, I wouldn't want to make you sorry, for me. Wednesday in the morning, I walk downstairs to the sound of my mother and my sister crying, chain smoking cigarettes. Foot to the floor of my car as I go to confront you. Now that it's over, I don't know how to feel, moving to California, where I won't have to deal. So what you think? Do you think it would make you sad? What you think? Do you think it would make you sorry? Well I'm sorry, I wouldn't want to make you sorry, for me. For me.