Dear Diary, Your counsel is like brandy I haven't drank Your experiences are but blotted reflections of mine And your memories dictated by my grammar Your advices are spitted forth by my pen The comfort you give are defined by my handstrokes Your hatred is a weak confession when I start to write them down And what of love? But an echo of my first kiss And see how you easily fold around the corners The only thing we have in common is emptiness Dear Diary, Understanding you is death