The room is cold and has been like this for several months
If I close my eyes, I can visualise everything in it
Right down, right down to the broken handle
On the third drawer down of the dressing table
And the world outside this room
Has also assumed a familiar shape
The same events shuffeled
In a slightly different order each day
Just like a modern shopping centre
And it's so cold, yeah, it's so cold
What is this feeling called love?
Why me? Why you?
Why here? Why now?
It doesn't make no sense, no
It's not convenient, no
It doesn't fit my plans, no
It's something I don't understand, oh
whole
touch
tonight
third
taste
stuff
standing
something
stomach
small
slightly
table
shopping
several
curve
drawer
dirtier
building
called
again
shoulder
convenient
about
catch
comes
entire
broken
assumed
different
dressing
thing
across
night
boxes
order
understand
breath
roses
close
universe
animal
centre
breasts
double
events
chocolate
leading
everything
flashes
happening
become
modern
handle
moment
plans
belly
months
shape
familiar
mouth
visualise
movies
world
outside
sense
feeling
right
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