Rain drops down on heads,
they look out the balcony at
me, and I am alone.

My own little black box,
four walls, a floor, and a roof.
No water, dried lips and a sore
throat. I'll never escape this,
you'll never hear me play the
violin. I doubt I'll be as good as you expect me to be.

But wouldn't it be pretty to think so?
Guitarist, turned musician, turned
pianist and back, just to reel again onto a new distraction.

Well, I can't distract myself forever,
or can I? I think they'll know it when
they see it. I think they see it now.

I'm a leech, I dig into the skin of the
people around me-     I **** the blood
from the strongest people.

And I'm alone.

In this cabin in the woods,
in this moment in time,
in every heartbeat.
Feeling every heartache.

It's more a forest fire than a candle now, isn't it?