like a piece of gum spat onto the concrete
—some of us that are still stuck to the streets
without any real reason to look for love;
just being trampled by stranger's feet

like a fly on the wall, seeing it all in
a private room
hovering over flesh, and trying to make small talk
out of a conversation already dead
reading into all these pointless conversations;
all spelling doom

tell me why I'm holding onto you, and still losing control
with all the stars in your eyes, galaxies and planets
it will always be us being so many worlds apart