(Z: Conan Gray hits different after this.)

it really is a different feeling

watching someone else move on, while you're still healing

mysterious stains on your sweats

and your eyes... they're still wet

you can't help but remember

the day they gave you their sweater

now you fucking hate this type of weather.

you gaze up at the sky, in that very sweater that you hate

you don't move when you realize you haven't ate

in fact, you hardly notice the way your fingers paint

all the stuff you think.

you're the one people wanted the most,

yet when they realized your flaws—

they don't care about you. they only care about the host.
and you're not that anymore.

so, now you cant help but wonder,

in this state that you're under,

the weather, this sweater, ...

were you just another heather?