If I'm the Grinch, you're the Witch (OG)

Never mind this kind of fine dining, when you're whining about finding the right time to die. Time and time again, You and I can never find the crime in smoking a little dime bag, by the by. Crying over the televised dramas, we see our selves so inclined to decline. Climbing the tower of spite and grime, It all feels like slime on the inside. It was all just wasted time of our prime. I was truly blind, to the signs and the lies. And now, you'll never be mine. Never mind the light, It won't ever be mine. So this is goodbye. I hope we meet again, in the next life.