I should probably change my aftershave
Though I would only be turning away
The past year's so bent out of shape
The time I took myself away
When the phone calls came from out of range
The irony of the good old days
I could maybe rearrange my flat
But it would only reinforce the fact
The confidence I lack
In the shadows that I cast upon the words
That roll right off my tongue
The furniture's done nothing wrong
I'm still cautious of the music that I play
In case it stirs a certain place
The laundromat where my body span and swayed
The churchyard where I often drank
Myself into a cosmic state
A need to feel a certain way
