Like a slow motion suicide,
Suspended in alcohol
With something of the night about me
I've got the sadness of an exile. 
I wear the cloak of solitude 
Buttoned up to my chin
No one gets out of love alive 
So no one's getting in.
A carved out heart
In oak and weeping willow
And next to me, in a too large bed
Will be no other slumbering soul
A laying on the pillow.