Just this morning I read the last page of the book that you gave me when we were in Sydney
What did i do? I closed the covers and went underground to be alone in this city again
Find me a lonesome shore that's not my shower floor where i can rest my weary bones
And it'll be years until the day that I'll come back with things to say
I'll say that i'm not sorry i went away
Four walls a bed a kitchen of honey and bread does not make a home
For my head is in pieces the tension increases inside a skull that's so deep in the ground