I’m filing as a missing person,
For all these months I’ve spent inside.
Despite the pills that I’ve been given,
You can never turn the tide.

All I wanted was some freedom,
A chance to stretch out in the sun,
But I’m having conversations with the streetlights;
Talking to friends where there are none.

This bus is full of lonely people,
Who’ll cry only in the dark;
For all the dreams they’d left in high school,
And the teenage lovers in the park.

We only send out grateful letters
Once old friends have moved address,
And I can’t fight this sleep much longer,
Whilst I am straining to confess.

This life isn’t what I wanted,
Nor can it be what I wish for,
But I will settle for the sound
Of you knocking at my door.