I am sitting on a leather sofa In front of me a low oval wooden table On the table a glass In the glass some whiskey In the whiskey some sleep In the sleep an oblivion In the oblivion some solace That You could have given me By not drinking the whiskey By not getting high By not abusing me By not getting killed By not sending me to jail By not depressing me By not making me a drunk By not making me drink the whiskey In the glass On the low oval wooden table In front of the leather sofa That I just left For good For our home For another leather sofa Where we made love the first time Where we fought the last time Where your eviscerated body lay that day Where asleep now lies another: A helpless little body commemorating our dead love story.