Her heart is just four chambers now, No boudoir, bathroom, garden or lounge, Just empty guts and unmanned halls. She sits alone, a smoulder in the corner, The tar smokes her shineless hair, She breathes in the dull air. Does she want these nameless people? Does she want these people? By day she studies marketing And paint flecks on an office ceiling, Coffee stains sweltering on a desk. She works alone, counting out the hours Between each soulless meeting, Power cables twist her nerves. Does she want this nameless person? Does she want this person? Four chambers were cleared yesterday, I went through each with my snake-eyed suitcase, Harvested important grains of the past. We sit alone, hidden, counting the years, The soulless, smouldering time, Tar fires through our twisted nerves. All these people Alone with all these nameless people.
Reason for writing:
The inspiration as such for this was a woman sat in a smoky bar-room corner seat, drifting through the evening alone. It is her story.
Birth sign: Pisces
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