I turn to stone every now and then,
Chip away, I won't know.
There's this dead end
When I'm sitting in my bed at four in the morning,
Like Medusa sitting on my night stand.

I am alone every now and then,
If I stay, I won't grow.
There's this dead friend.
There are years that have passed, but we're still mourning,
Like three meals and a bed pan.