A man of few words
and no second chances
Roaming the house at night
I follow in your footstepts
(just like I said I didn't want to)
but there's no one here to close the door or ask me to turn the volume down on the TV.

So I write

I live inside my head and
there I look for you
A galaxy of soundbites, loose links to keep the longing
And all those morons that got to you first

Shame

You say there's no excuse for feeling bored
Well, what do you know of what the fucked-up must resort to?