I am living in an archive buried deep in someone's chest
Logging every word they've said
and everything that they'll regret
To be honest, I'll admit
I've thought of burning just a bit
Off any book that even mentions you

Now, you will remain anonymous, but I've grown a collection
A heaping pile of yellowed books
just itching for correction
With everything you did
It's hard to shelve even a little bit
The tear-stained pages taken up by you

And oh, I'm an archivist
But I have morals and I think you're better gone
And oh, I'm a heretic
Chunks and paragraphs are missing
if I rewrite your wrongs and
Call me a revisionist
But I don't want her holding all this hurt
And oh, I'm an archivist
I guess the plot holes would need filling
But I am not forgiving
You're lucky that I do my job so well

I am stranded in the spines and scribbles
Names and dates gone by
And yes, this is my work, but I cannot help but cry
She's grown and changed so much
I can't just take away that pain, but
Know that I will not think fondly on you
In my history books, she'll never forgive you