[Intro] Ladies and gentlemen, lot number one. One sincere apology. Opening bid: one sleepless year. Do I hear two? [Verse 1] I'll give you two years, three if they admit it, four if they say they knew when they did it. Five for the truth without dressing it pretty, six if they don't make themselves the victim. Going up. I got pride in the front row raising the bid, anger in back yelling, "Make 'em pay for what they did." Memory's waving money it ain't even got, while peace in the corner ain't bidding a lot. What's closure worth? Depends who got hurt. Depends if "I'm sorry" comes rehearsed. I need remorse with interest accrued, accountability paid, no substitute. Don't tell me "mistakes," tell me choices were made. Don't ask for forgiveness then bargain the rate. Do I hear seven? Seven. Eight? Eight. Nine in the rear. Ten? Sold? Nah. Not yet. [Pre-Chorus] Raise it again. Make 'em earn what they owe. If sorry comes cheap, I don't want it at all. Eleven? Twelve? Thirteen? MORE. [Chorus] WELCOME TO THE APOLOGY AUCTION, guilt going once, regret going twice. I put a premium on making it right, kept raising the bid till forgiveness had a price. APOLOGY AUCTION, who'll give me enough for the years that it cost? Going once. Going twice. Nobody says "sold" when you're pricing the loss. [Verse 2] Lot twenty-six, "I was young, I was dumb." Rejected. That currency don't spend where I'm from. Twenty-seven brought tears with a speech attached, twenty-eight said, "Can we leave in the past?" Twenty-nine said, "You hurt me too." Ah. There it is. Discount remorse with a loophole included, half an admission conveniently diluted. I became an appraiser of anguish and blame, checking each sorry for counterfeit weight. Too little. Too late. Add another zero. Made vindication into my hero. Wanted one sentence so perfect, precise, I'd know when I heard it my hurt had a price. Twenty! Thirty! Forty! Fifty! Keep going. To whom am I bidding? What? Sir... there's nobody else here. [Bridge] I look at the seats. Empty. Look at the balcony. Empty. All night long, that paddle going up... was mine. [Verse 3] I was outbidding peace just to prove I got hurt, adding tax to the past, putting pain back to work. Set the reserve so absurdly high no human apology ever qualified. Wanted repayment they couldn't afford, wanted a sentence to settle the score. Wanted them bankrupt in guilt at my feet, then called it closure if payment complete. But hurt ain't a market. Grief ain't a trade. No fair exchange gets yesterday changed. No perfect wording refunds what it took, no final bid makes the numbers look good. So cancel the lots. Give the bidders their cash. Tell anger the auction is done with the past. And that apology? Keep it. If it comes, let it come without purchasing me. [Final Chorus] CLOSE THE APOLOGY AUCTION, guilt went once, regret went twice. Spent too damn long trying to calculate what somebody owed for a piece of my life. CLOSE THE APOLOGY AUCTION, take down the lot, let the hammer fall. Going once. Going twice. I was the highest bidder after all. [Outro] Sold. No. Released.
