practise practice

so it seems like i'm alone for a week. thanks joy - have fun anyway on your ski holiday. this might sound part creepy, part well, odd but it actually does feel like i'm on my lonesome for seven whole days in this empty house. it can't be too bad, i suppose.

---

a heart that's full up like a landfill,
a job that slowly kills you,
bruises that won't heal.
you look so tired-unhappy,
bring down the government,
they don't, they don't speak for us.
i'll take a quiet life,
a handshake of carbon monoxide,

with no alarms and no surprises,
no alarms and no surprises,
no alarms and no surprises,

silence, silence.

this is my final fit,
my final bellyache

with no alarms and no surprises,
no alarms and no surprises,
no alarms and no surprises please.

such a pretty house
and such a pretty garden.

no alarms and no surprises (get me outta here),
no alarms and no surprises (get me outta here),
no alarms and no surprises, please.

---

this carries no connotations, i promise. anything i say usually carries half a dozen other meanings, but this time it doesn't. so i suppose that you could just assume that whenever there isn't a hidden message - i will state so. i just happen to be listening to this song and lack the total inspiration to write anything. theoretically, i shouldn't be lacking in any inspiration because i don't think that i ever had the capacity to possess inspiration for writing. maybe for other things.

happy non capital letters day. every monday,