My Little Apartment
My little apartment; a metaphorical compartment
for my realistic compulsions – I don’t recognise my
heart, this love is tentative. Oh, if it were only that easy –
everything is absolutely under control as long as there’s
a great big fucking concrete wall between you and me. And
an acoustic guitar makes us feel the things we once swore we’d
never feel again; but people we’ve met and July’s a bad month for all.
Oh, if it were only that easy! This love is true in bedrooms and
supermarkets, but I’m meant to be so much more! I can’t sleep
when you’re not around, and isn’t that pathetic? Aren’t I pathetic?
I’m sorry everything changed after everything got a little too real
sometime, and you look to me as if life is trying to break out. Everything
changed on the day you cried; you said I looked just like her and I guess I do –
you blame the rock of the boat on tidal movements. I can’t sit still; that’s
a damn shame – she’d never love a fool like me. My little apartment; my
little safe haven – I would drink too much; oh I’d never be this way! I didn’t
want trouble, but I’d be letting family down. Apparently, that’s important.
Oh, I’d dream of suicide and the sofas would collide – I’d wait outside and I hoped
you’d pass by; tell me the story of your mother and father. Oh, Ma and Pa, we’d
be talking and fools talk too much; you’d talk of your broken heart and parental
abuse. I just want to get close to me (I wish I wasn’t so hard to achieve), you just
want a symmetrical chest and the attention that it would attest; give me some
time and you’ll find it’s not an obstacle. I just sit in silence and wait for you to die.
Smiles are unobtrusive; but you’ve run out of excuses and bedposts and lies
don’t live in the clouds. My little apartment, my suicide; earthquakes start
and I’ve burnt away the aftershocks with alcohol and smoke.
for my realistic compulsions – I don’t recognise my
heart, this love is tentative. Oh, if it were only that easy –
everything is absolutely under control as long as there’s
a great big fucking concrete wall between you and me. And
an acoustic guitar makes us feel the things we once swore we’d
never feel again; but people we’ve met and July’s a bad month for all.
Oh, if it were only that easy! This love is true in bedrooms and
supermarkets, but I’m meant to be so much more! I can’t sleep
when you’re not around, and isn’t that pathetic? Aren’t I pathetic?
I’m sorry everything changed after everything got a little too real
sometime, and you look to me as if life is trying to break out. Everything
changed on the day you cried; you said I looked just like her and I guess I do –
you blame the rock of the boat on tidal movements. I can’t sit still; that’s
a damn shame – she’d never love a fool like me. My little apartment; my
little safe haven – I would drink too much; oh I’d never be this way! I didn’t
want trouble, but I’d be letting family down. Apparently, that’s important.
Oh, I’d dream of suicide and the sofas would collide – I’d wait outside and I hoped
you’d pass by; tell me the story of your mother and father. Oh, Ma and Pa, we’d
be talking and fools talk too much; you’d talk of your broken heart and parental
abuse. I just want to get close to me (I wish I wasn’t so hard to achieve), you just
want a symmetrical chest and the attention that it would attest; give me some
time and you’ll find it’s not an obstacle. I just sit in silence and wait for you to die.
Smiles are unobtrusive; but you’ve run out of excuses and bedposts and lies
don’t live in the clouds. My little apartment, my suicide; earthquakes start
and I’ve burnt away the aftershocks with alcohol and smoke.