Echoes

I hear their echoes sometimes,
whispers in the quiet night.
Come back to us, they say,
don’t you remember how good it was?
It was dirty messy painful bleeding,
but weren’t we just so alive?
In every aching screaming blister,
wasn’t that the sharpest cleanest truth?

You are all such liars,
and such a pushy crowd,
I could never dance with one of you,
never invite just one round.
Quickly there would be no room
with all your bumping sweaty clamour,
and your harsh music stops all thought,
beating brutal at my temples,
and soon I’m hiding in the bathroom
of my own house to keep you out.

I am alone now, yes.
And lonely often too.
But I’m not taking your calls no more,
ring as often as you like,
because I’m not picking up.
And I’m only here for one last clean
before I move out forever.

I hear their echoes sometimes,
whispers in the quiet night.
I may be lonely alone now,
but I like the company I keep.

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