The needle scratches the vinyl record in the dimly lit room The lamp throws crooked shadows on the peeling wall I listen to that British vocalist who seems to bleed through the microphone Nobody looked for me today and the telephone is just a useless plastic object I watch the car headlights cutting through the fog across the window The distorted guitar is the only physical embrace I receive in these small hours While I pour bitter coffee down the metal sink My favorite songs don't always speak of happiness! Sometimes they make me wonder if loneliness really wants to marry me Or abandon me for good! I put on a worn jacket that still carries the smell of old gigs I walk down the cracked asphalt with no address in mind The streetlamps blink like tired insect eyes The ghosts of Manchester whisper in my left ear They swear that absolute silence is a contagious disease My favorite songs don't always speak of happiness! Sometimes they make me wonder if loneliness really wants to marry me Or abandon me for good! If she decides to put a ring on my finger tomorrow The metal will be made of stage dust and cigarette smoke But if she packs her bags and leaves forever Who will sit beside me on the torn seat of the night bus? Who will listen to these same magnetic tapes until the ribbon snaps? My favorite songs don't always speak of happiness! Sometimes they make me wonder if loneliness really wants to marry me Or abandon me for good! The record finally finished playing. Only the static noise from the amplifier keeps sounding in the room. I look at the empty armchair. She is still sitting there. Staring at me in silence.
