---

Coming down again
Won't you leave a trampoline
At the foot, of the stairs?
So won't break my neck
Falling out, of your favour.

White powder, speaks louder
Than any words you're saying.
My flower, turned sour
l found the petals at the end, of the bed.
"It's just media-types-
You know what they're like"
Well yeah, l do, but never pictured you with them.
Coming in from the cold
You're losing your hold
On a part of me you'd stolen.

I've stopped, calling you when I'm drunk
I've taken the time to hear the one
Voice that's telling me
That you don't really care
I'm getting there -
I'm almost at the point of no return
But there's a light that burns.

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