Listen to my story. This may be our last chance.

You know what? You're a joke. I mean, you are a ridiculous, immature, half-wit moron. I have never met a sadder, more attention-starved, jabbering little prick in my entire life, and that says a lot 'cause I've been alive for more than 200 years. And I'll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never save the world! You couldn't even save a relationship with a stripper! And I wish I could say you'd die alone, but it's one of God's best jokes that you can't die.

I showed them compassion, I showed them mercy, I walked away, I was the bigger man, and look what the fück it got me.

There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.

You just have to show up, for once
Show up? Yes!
Show up? Yes!
I fücking showed up for you, I showed up!
I was standing there for you
Oh, by the wa— And look where it got me
So this is my fault then? All of this?
I showed up for you!
All of this is my fault, right?
I showed up for you!
It doesn't scare me, just—
I can't, I can't, I can't
I can't do it, why do you even want me?
Why? I'm such a fück up