I have suffered through this awkward silence,
and barely lived through all of these weekends
of pouring drinks to quench this thirsty city;
they laugh with me, but none of them are friends.

They pollute their dreams with future blueprints,
a formula to manage all their bills;
some childhood land turned into a car park,
and all of their memories that soon will.

I'm planning to execute a kidnap,
I know it's gonna be the perfect crime,
as I sing to the hearts of the lonely:
that you're not alone, oh now, you are mine.

Oh, I'm tired of working for a pay-cheque,
I think I shall start howling at the moon;
now all I've got is my superstition,
and all my friends that grew up far too soon.

And, if you come to see me in the morning,
I can't promise that I'll be there at all.
I'm packing bags, heading to Costa Rica;
I'm standing up for the years I have crawled.