All night long
She will be sleeping with the television on, baby.
She will be sleeping with the television on.
I'm sick of the complaints.
I'm sick of the excuses.
I'm sick of the repetition.
I'm sick of the disappearance.
I'm sick of the depression.
Sick of the obliviousness and refusal to get into conflict.
Sick of being so far away.
Sick of never being around.
Of retaining what you gave up.
Of not being the same.
Thinking about yourself.
The list is short, yet I can't help feeling that the day that everything stood still may be the last.
Bang
Bang
Knock on the door
Another big bang
You're down on the floor
Oh
No
What do we do?
I worry about working too hard and crossing lines and doing one ideosyncracy one step too far.