As they put up the chairs on the tables around you,
The waiters all clean and seem to surround you.
You search in your pockets to look for a bribe,
And you pull out ten dollars to beg for more time.
Some waiters look angry while others smile glee,
You look in yourself and search ’round for me…
…The words that I mutter in that strangest of place
Is that lately I cry when I think of your face.
Though I can call you at night, or write you a letter
These days it just seems to not make me feel better.
What can I do to fill this hole you’ve created,
From me you have lately skittered and skated,
When you visit my dreams and I wake up so sore
And each day you don’t call I just miss you so more.
written 30/11/1996 – 8pm – on a bus – missing