You've been on your own as long as I recall:
if loneliness was art, I could hang you from the wall
in some Berlin hall.
It doesn't matter where you've been or who you have
been with, it's like the just Joans said: 'you're oh so
sensitive!', in that jumper, in that t-shirt.
This situation has to change: can you feel the pulse
my heavy heart race?
When I'm all alone I find a map of the world
zoom in on your island 'til the pixels form have some booze, 'til I can't see you.
We make believe that our hearts are never shot
and somehow you've convinced me that I'm pretty when I'm not.
Everybody I know wants to be your friend but I just want to hold you when the music ends,
that's all, all I ask. Is that too crass?