it scares me to speak my mind
it might sound self-absorbed
i don't say half of what i think.
i wonder what i'm thinkin' for

i'm smelling dead flowers
and listening to the walls again
i'm drinking from a leaky faucet
and writing this with a dried up pen
wish i still had my imaginary friend

and who needs to listen, well...
what do i have to sell
everyone's just waitin for their own turn
kind of like show and tell

someone to listen
someone to laugh
someone to cry at the right times

and i would call him up
but i don't remember his name