How long until tomorrow?,
And when will you go?
She is talking, not to me,
But her hand holds mine,
And I don't know why.

The perfect one stares,
A pair of lips waiting,
But she does not care,
Waiting is her specialty.

Lost in a dreamscape
without help or courage,
She expects escape,
But I won't help her tonight.

As expected she fled,
With some grapes and wire,
Whilst I lay in bed,
She stays in my head.

© ManWithoutSelf