Don't you worry about me,
I'm not going anywhere.
Don't think it's up me;
I'm not getting anywhere.

Second-hand coffee grounds
and sediment on cold mugs.
Filthy dregs,
cold hands, not a sound,
quiet, like a powder keg.
Empty room but for me.
There she blows,
weak breeze, tiny window.


Don't you forget about me.
I don't want to go just yet,
but when I did,
it's much more hell
than if I stayed.
It's much more hell

And you won't talk to me or listen even.
Weak breeze, tiny window.
And I can't find the way to say:
'Talk to me, talk to me'

And everyone I used to know
won't talk to me no more,
but you don't know me.
You don't know me no more.
Talk to me, talk to me