It might sound self-absorbed
I dont say half of what I think.
I wonder what Im thinkin for
Im smelling dead flowers
And listening to the walls again
Im drinking from a leaky faucet
And writing this with a dried up pen
Wish I still had my imaginary friend
And who needs to listen, well...
What do I have to sell
Everyones just waitin for their own turn
Kind of like show and tell
Someone to listen
Someone to laugh
Someone to cry at the right times
And I would call him up
But I dont remember his name