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I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you
I know you were right believing for so long
I'm all out of love, what am I without you
I can't be too late to say that I was so wrong

I want you to come back and carry me home
away from these long lonely nights.
I'm reaching for you; are you feeling it too?
Does the feeling seem oh-so-right?
And what would you say if I called on you now,
and said that I can't hold on?
There's no easy way; it gets harder each day.
Please love me or I'll be gone. I'll be gone!

The Hawkeyes have turned into Alcoholic Daddy, hurting our hearts the way only a trusted figure can. Seven straight conference losses, and no hope on the horizon.

Jake Christensen doesn't use the belt. He boils pots of coffee just so he can have something to throw at us.

Luckily, they fly 5 feet over our heads.

Tacopants may never recover.

Is this a family anymore, Hawkeyes? When will you stop hurting those who love you the most? When will you stop pushing away the people who want to help you? You call it encouraging them to transfer; I call it tearing this family apart.


We don't dare suggest that Jim Leavitt wouldn't do this to us. That's a whoopin'.

It would be one thing if it were effort in the face of failure. That's not the case.

This isn't about us. It's about you. This isn't about us. It's about you. This isn't about us. It's about you. This isn't about us. It's about you. This isn't about us. It's about you. This isn't about us. It's about you. This isn't about us. It's about you. This isn't about us. It's about you.

And that is what hurts the most.

That and losing all the fucking time.