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Waiting for someone to tolerate me.
Hanging around 'cause I can't leave this cat behind.
In nine lives if I haven't found something to hold on to,
Why worry? Nobody I care for will be around.

The only emotion that I can convey when I contemplate my life,
is an uncompromising, flush of uncertainty.
Which is caused by a combination of lack of self respect,
and an overwhelming lack of company.

So I will share my bed with phantom limbs, and live my life in tidy rooms.
Surround myself with living things that don't know how to move.
I am like cigarettes and steak and booze, obesity and stress,
everyone with a bad heart will blame me for their mess.

My life story's just a clip show,
Filled with long drawn out scenes of plug holes.

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