Cheers, (i'm on my own, but Carol's here)

So with every step I take,
I will my heart to fail,
Dreaming of empty beds
And singles bars,
Messed up heads
And lonely cars,
Where your voice used to fill,
The voice that lingers still,
But only the echo of emptiness.

Lay the table for one,
I'm dining by myself,
My mum calls to check I'm not dead,
Or words to that affect.
Your memory dances in my head,
So I smash it against the wall,
But it only enhances vision.
You took me out with such precision.

So I'm turning on the television,
See Carol Vorderman making words,
And it's only four O'clock
But my head still hurts,
I think I'm coming down with something
Or perhaps it's from the vodka?
Bur I've only had the one today,
Bottles, that is.

I'm lying on my lounge floor,
Can't even think about risking the stairs,
And with every tick of the clock
My head hurts a little more,
As we all edge closer to oblivion.
A comforting nothingness,
The false sense of waking up with you
(mixed with the drink)
Like a deceptive cocktail,
Lures me into a sleep.

I can't even hope in my dreams,
This world's far more twisted
Than it first seems.

-------------------------------------

(to anyone who's not british, carol voderman is a number genius thats on a cr*ppy programme called countdown, watched by old ppl normally.)