Damp Cigarette On The Windowsill

Tuesday drags on like an endless joke that nobody finds amusing.
A damp wind beats against the glass, but I lack the will to weep.
Your promise to arrive has melted like yesterday's filthy snow.
And here I stand, absolutely pathetic in my naive hopefulness.


Boredom is slowly eating the wallpaper in my cramped room.
You've naturally found someone else who surpasses me in every way.

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A damp cigarette on the windowsill,
The solitary silent witness to my profound disgrace.
It never caught a spark, much like my life next to yours.
Oh, how typical, how murderously typical.


The postman walked right by without a single glance at my door.
I read yesterday's papers just to pretend that I'm still alive.
I feel the ghost of your cold fingers inside my empty coat pocket.
But there is only dust and tickets for a train we never boarded.


Misery is soaking deep into these faded drab curtains,
While you're out spinning with a stranger to a dreadful, stupid tune.

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A damp cigarette on the windowsill,
My only true companion in this prolonged and dreary tragedy.
It never caught a spark, much like our foolish little romance.
Oh, how tedious, how unbearably tedious.


And if a heavy downpour sweeps me down into the gutter tomorrow,
You would simply shrug in disgust and go buy yourself a new hat.
Because there is no room in your diary for someone else's sorrow.


Just leave me to rot with this damp cigarette...
It is soaked with the rain, just like my miserable thoughts.
Don't try to light it.
Don't try to save me.
Just walk away.