Since you left not much has changed,
the room's now clean, though that’s not strange.
The walls are white, the paintings – gone,
where once stood chaos, lines were drawn.
The bathroom shines in ocean blue,
no empty bottles of shampoo.
The toothpaste’s squeezed just at the end
to make it easier to spend.
And in the living room you knew
I had to change a thing or two.
To make it look a bit like me
And not the man you made me be.
The Warhol statue, plastic deer -
I threw them out and shed no tear.
That old-school, retro thing called art
was nothing I held near my heart.
Where you saw barren, I saw clean.
What you called boring I thought keen.
But now that everything’s in place
Why do I carry this sad face?
I came to wonder – could it be,
Perhaps it wasn’t you, but me?
Perhaps the problem after all
was I had no control?
For if we are figures - I'm a square;
And what you are I'm not aware.
You’re something that I can’t define -
you have no corners and no line.
You’re just the mess I thought you were -
a changing wind, an image blur.
However fucked up you may be
you’re not as nearly fucked as me.
At least you know life has no frame;
That nothing ever stays the same;
That order’s just a silly word
to make the world seem less absurd
for grown up kids who’re in denial
stranded on their lonely isle.
And now I sit here, feeling bitter,
Lying that life can’t be sweeter;
That I have just what I want
When what I really need – I don’t.
since you left not much has changed.
Except my mind, though that's not strange
The walls are white, the paintings – thrown,
And in between I sit alone.