I'm not you're bitchy ex-girlfriend. I'm not yours, and that's the point.

If this is karma, i'm confused.
But I'll keep sailing home, to you.
They'll tell my love that I'm gone, and not to worry.
Even though my hands are colder that ice box you call a heart.
I'll chisel at all that frost until we come to a conclusion about what we had, and lost.
And once I've found my favorite T-shirt, and my dignity I'll ride the winds back into his arms.

Because, darling, he's not you. And that's the point.