What Day Is It, October?

My lifestyle is a form of suicide But then again everyone's is Mine just may be faster than others The drinking, smoking, hearing from my mother That I should take much better care of myself I spend my life staring at my bedroom walls The TVs on but I don't care In my mind it really hasn't been that long But then reality sets in and It's been years. All alone in my room Without anything to do Except I'm thinking of you And the times that we spent Glued at the lips, always attached at the hip Your special brand of crazy And the sex after fights I know that those days are gone I think about it most nights Those days are gone. I think about you most nights.