Well it's the fifth time I looked through my phone book, page by page. There is just no one to call. Why don't you ring? No one's ever home when I phone. You're Giving Me the Sweetest Taboo. Sing it Sade. This is my quiet storm.
It's raining silence and loneliness. Everywhere I go I'm alone. I think I need a drink. Women are always playing games. Why can't I be like everyone else and have a good ole fucking time? I think I need a drink but I don't drink.
There is an emptiness that sits with me in this house. The music plays with or without me. Day after day I become duller, more empty, old and dead. What am I doing wrong? I plastic smile it during the day and burn to get behind my closed doors of security called home to sit, balled up, alone, in my room and not leave until the next day.
Another struggle is trying not to consume the entire refrigerator and stare at my friend the television all evening.
Down, down, down, I'm falling fast. I guess this is what keeps me sick and unable to go to work. I would like to cry but not even tears care to join my company. I'm left with my beautiful Jezebel. Sing it beautiful Sade.
Why don't you ring? Don't just sit there on the stand. Let it be someone special who makes me feel special. My friend is not coming down this weekend. It figures. What am I to do? It's probably just another fantasy anyway. My hyped up world of make-believe.
Every Winter Was a War. My head is down. I want to sleep but I can't.
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