"Cripes, Sans, what do you want from me?" He's not angry, just tired. He might be angry, if not for the music, but he's making sure to keep the tune mellow in spite of it all.

"You're my friend. And I guess you're a murderer now? Like, jeez. Sort of a bomb to drop on a guy. Sorry for being rude, I guess."

He closes his eyes. It would feel sort of good to cry right now, he thinks, but he doesn't even have the energy for that. "I don't get it. Any of it. I don't get you, I don't get being a dad, I don't get this crap going on with our heads. I'm just not that bright. I'm just going to keep playing my guitar for a while, all right?"