This Late in December

It's late in December,
I'm asking do you remember,
how you made that expression go somber?

Or maybe you never noticed,
How your actions turned me coldest,
What was it that you promised?

Or maybe you never did,
Your remarks were so acrid,
How did you become so very morbid?

Or maybe you haven't,
This could be a form of ailment,
Of how the pain became so frequant.

Or maybe it's not,
And everything you did, is everything I bought,
And everything you did, I never forethought.

Or maybe it is your fault,
And everthing I bethought went through the asphalt,
And everything we were stood at a halt.

Or maybe we wern't anything at all,
That's what you said before my downfall,
And everything you did is left forgotten on the back wall.

Or maybe it isn't,
And that I'm right, this late in december,
The reason you can't look at me is that you really do remember.