Sitting here picking flowers
I whittle away the hours
Another day of dusk till dawn
Restless sleep and waking yawns
Reaching for what is not there
Nothing to hold, you left me bare.
So I sit at night on grass and dew
Trying not to cry and stew
As I hide here in the dark
Waiting for death to hit his mark
Change this setting, change the sun
This realism is a bullet in the gun.