When I'd get up in the morning, he'd make me breakfast. Now he's not around anymore. God. I'm doing to do well, but when I come down to it, who really cares? I like doing my job, but I'm not happy being victorious. I fight my heart out and give it my best, but when it's over, there's no Cus to tell me how I did, no mother to show my clippings to.