I wrote us this ballad
grown ups used to saynever talk to strangersthey could steal you and keep youlocked up in their basementonly now you’re lying on an empty bedlittered with laundryin a tiny studio apartmentin a crowded city that never sleepsgosh, maybe a dark roomwith an upstairs roommateyou never seedoesn’t sound…
me and my friends
we’ll always feel
some kind of crazy
a humiliating condition
this looking for love
walking home at 2
the notches in my bedpost
hang above me
like souvenirs
I run my fingers
through the grooves
feel their skin
