The air is biting me,
With homely smells,
With too much comfort,
Like trying too hard to impress my friends,
The first time they come round to my house.

The night is tiring me,
But I'm fighting back,
For no apparent reason,
Like the rebellious teenage streak,
That I could never bring myself to have.

The chair is pushing me,,
Urging me to leave,
But I remain stubborn,
Like being told our love is over,
But clinging onto hope.