A clown sat down with me somewhere down south.
She said he couldn't see the point of me.
I couldn't help but shamefully agree,
My words like leeches crawling from my mouth.
I bought her overmilked insipid tea.
She drank it independently from life,
My awkward leeches eyeing up the knife,
The conversation unnecessary.

The outside world is alien and cold.
Our hope is cobwebs tied to timid birds.
Her mother's only hobby's keeping score.
My father isn't bothered any more.
Love's faded down to sub-contractual words.
We're less convinced it's worth me growing old.