Their / They're / Theraphy

This sucks
I suck
At unpredictable emotions
These are the sad bastard conditions
And certainly not what I would seem
To assume to see me say
Am I okay?

Drawing on the floor
Drawing in circles around the spots where you were
My memory is selective
I can't say I'm ever sure
I can't say my intentions are ever too pure
Tracking your steps like a detective

I guess you could call it a problem
What goes on inside my head
A ring of constant questions
Subtle hints at indiscretion
Keeping quiet but losing my voice instead

How much that he had said today was understood?
How much would be of any value?
He recalled the words he had used,
and they seemed to fade and lose their strength
The words left unsaid were heavier on his heart
They rolled up to his lips and fretted them
The faces of his suffering people
moved in a swelling mass before his eyes
And as he steered the automobile slowly down the
street his heart turned with this angry, restless love

This sucks
I suck
At documented emotions
And self-diagnosed conditions
Am I okay?

Drawing on the floor
Drawing in circles around the spots where you were
(Am I okay?)
My memory is selective
(Am I okay?)
I can't say I'm ever sure
I can't say my intentions are ever too pure
(Am I okay?)
Tracking your steps like a detective