Fifty ways to leave your lover alone

I'm going on a date tonight
To try to fall out of love with you
I know, I know this is a crime
But I don't know what else to do

My love, you're in a magazine
My love, you're doing fine, you're on TV
You pull my heart out and then you run away
From Chicago to Cleveland you leave me pain
You leave me pain

When you're lucid you're the sweetest thing
I would trade my mother to hear you sing
When you're lucid you're the sweetest thing
I would trade my mother

On the bus radio, "Fifty ways to leave your lover alone"
I laughed at the irony
But life is stupid, the irony all lost on me
It got lost on me

You challenged me to write a love song
Here it is, I think I got it wrong
I focused on the negative
The pain was too much to write and sing
Oh, it was not a nice incentive

But she don't know just how far I'd go
Would I walk for a hundred miles
For an instant northern smile

What should I do?

What will help you?

Dylan and I caught The Great Gatsby one night. I enjoyed it immensely.

Null.

I have no content to offer at this time. Maybe I'd think of something nice. Maybe not. For now, microblogging feeds my need for attention. For some mental organization, I make lists. And for boredom, there's always The Hills. Entertain yourselves somewhere else, kids. The internet is a vast cesspool of awesomeness and Class-A dickery. Go ahead, and get sucked in.