Thank you very much for two whole years of chances to prove I'm not programmed to romance you. I promised to be better, but I'm nowhere near perfect yet. And your friends say you should end me; "You shine too bright for somebody so cold." I promise not to be bitter, but I'm not known for kept promises. It's pretty pathetic how I pretend I'm on a level above all my old friends and peers that have found success, when the truth is it tears me up inside. The truth is I'm jealous. Or how I give all your friends when we're introduced deafening silence and condescending grins, when the truth is I get too shy to move. The truth is I'm a scared little kid. There's not too much time left in this life. Don't waste more tied to my side. I'm so closed off. Mr. Right? Of course I'm not. I'm an unemotional robot. Mr. Right? He don't exist. I gored out his heart with my robot fists, so move on.