Sitting in the chair of loneliness,
Holding the bottle of happiness,
Thinking there’s slightly any beer left,
And that the pizza of love has been eaten,
Meaning there is nothing left for me
And how desperately I wanted to taste some of it.
I am damned to never know the meaning of love,
To eat from the eternal plate of sadness,
To hold the knife of madness,
Eating the meal of despair,
Thinking that there might be somebody
Hiding behind the cupboard of nothingness
Waiting for me to realize that he was always there.
Maybe love is somewhere in the ashtray of serenity
And it was consumed along with the cigarette of tranquility.
Searching among the ashes, maybe I’ll find it,
In the end I am left disappointed that
I am leaning against the wall of agony
Terribly suffering of envy.
Why must I be the one not to have anybody
Waiting for me somewhere?
What is love, anyway?
A garbage can waiting to be emptied.