Waking up from dizzy dreams to find them all around me. The characters on floors and sofas, bottles cover every surface. The only difference now is that they’re empty.
In my dreams they were full but I can see now they’re empty.
Lifting up my heavy head from the pillow of a makeshift bed. It’s just a rolled up towel on a duvet. Scenes are coming back to me – sharing deep philosophy, but slurring every word along the way.
I pick my way through the massacre. One or two being to stir. I try to keep my footsteps soft, cos I don’t want to wake them up.
They’re everything that’s real, I can see.
Yeah outside these four walls means nothing to me.
