Four walls, and no one calls.

I sit alone thinking out loud.

A small cover to cover what I have left.

And a typewriter with the cheapest bottle in town.

I remember when I got out of the belly of the world.

Cold, starving and shaking, I watched the beauty, and
the sand as it uncurled.

No false statements. What I saw in there was nothing
short of hints.

The world swallowed us alive, and some were lucky
enough to be spit out, others were lucky to have
had a place to sleep.

We never meant for the world to swallow us whole.

We never meant for love to be a goal.

I walked up the beach to see all that got released.

No old faces only new ones, I bit my lip and thought
of Perfect Stranger reruns.

If I could take it back, I would crawl into the jaws
of the world.

No new songs, no old faces, no expenses and no traces.

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