Possible Heart Failure Songtext

You're choosing phone calls to solve your problems; I'm choosing bottles to solve mine. Don't expect things to get better. I got your letter in the mail and it exploded in my face, chards of glass and nails sent from you. I only think about the bad times, broken hearts and lonely nights. I always thought things would get better. They found a note behind the bookshelf; no one knew what it had meant...all the paper had was a number. 28.Oh God, he flat- lined, he's dying. She killed him. And we need back up, this heart is so fucked. I'm surprised he made it through the night; there's a picture of you in his hand.