Waiting here is wasting me to death
How could I have known that you were there behind that door?
I'm sorry for what I said
The streets are cold here; I can always see my breath
I was way too high to say goodbye
I ran away and I don't know why
Still hiding in London
So no one gets hurt when it all comes undone
Getting back to my apartment
Or flat or whatever you bastards call it
I just up and left; didn't realize what it meant
You called me out
What began in the hall...I'll be damned if it all works out
Still hiding in Bristol
Thinking it could help, but my thinking's wishful
Nobody could stop it
Everything I never felt has been shoplifted, tattered, torn
Things that I'd tried to ignore (and with success)
Barely here in the flesh; I'm a shell in my Sunday best
Oh, I'm sorry that you're sore
Has no one ever talked to you like this before?
I'm sorry that you're sore
Has no one ever talked to you like this?
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