And as you leave, close the door
I don't want to breathe anymore
Stale air coming up the stair
All the way from the thirteenth floor
And as I sit staring at the ceiling
I don't fit, I've lost the feeling
All alone with the telephone
Off the hook to look more appealing
And even though I'm not to blame
I don't even know my neighbour's name
And for a while though I try to smile
My face just grows tired of the game.
Lyndon Queripel
