than when you turned away, when you slammed the door
when you stole the car and drove towards mexico
and you wrote bad checks just to fill your arm
i was young enough, i still believed in war
well let the poets cry themselves to sleep
and all their tearful words will turn back into steam
the end of paralysis, i was a statuette
now i`m drunk as hell on a piano bench
and when i press the keys it all gets reversed
the sound of loneliness makes me happier