Love Would be made,
or what passes for love.
It would be made by desperate men
to impress their friends.
It would be made with pretty quitters
who go home on their own.
It would be made with tears and laughter,
drunk and sober
with no inhibition.
And my body is numb.
My mind is on a distant cloud,
and i'm feeling stolen kisses.
It doesn't seem the same anymore...
Not at all,
and i don't know what i'm missing.
So why do i stay here?
Why do i stay with her?
Do i love her?
As we embrace to say goodbye,
the words in her ear are lies...
What did i give her?
My extraordinary life.
But now there are too many long nights,
lonely beds and ruined lives.
It's getting harder to survive
when there are so many wrong signs,
so much dread and sad decline,
and there's no surprise that that's no surprise.
See, there is zero,
and there is eternity,
and there is mortality,
but there is no version of reality.
Still, i'm here to stay idefinitely.