In my last band, we tried so hard to turn this into a song. Obviously not all of it, just bits. Long long story but it never worked. The chorus (not featured here) was killer though. You would love it. Maybe next time.
He’s not dead
And she, I think’s
Still breathing
I am bored
And buddy’s
On the ceiling.
It is four in the afternoon
The alcohol
That we have left
Is warm
And flat
And bitter
Tasting
I have no more cigarettes
And so I’ve started pacing.
Flies ease in
And pick at last night’s
Last meal
Last time
I come here, I think.
I am turning grey
And buddy’s puking
In the kitchen sink.
He’s awake
Quite soon he’ll
Start to cry.
She’s still here
But she does
Not know why
Evening comes
And someone calls my name.
Maybe it is your voice
That beckons me into the rain
But no.
She wants a cigarette
And when she hears I have none left
She curses
Marching out into the storm
While buddy’s getting up
To drink ‘til dawn.
I never hear you
When I am awake
So I will drink
Until I see your face.
Looping Static 