Except you perform one,
I think I’d rather do nothing.
I’d wait, and fill my home,
With the tears and pain of tomorrow.
Though trust went on a journey,
I’ll try hard to let him know,
How the night’s being so mean.
I’ve got lots to say, so much,
My heart’s pounding,
Seems like my chest ain’t enough
To hold it in.
My heart’s also racing,
Faster than Hamilton’s mobile.
I’m sorry for boring you
With the night’s wantonness.
How he’s drunken, he’s beating me up.
I’m scared to say a word,
His friends would say I’m weak.
But I’ve got my ink, and notepad,
My mended chest, and my faraway friend.
I’ll write to you everyday,
Till you come and fill me with hope and stay.