Songs for the Sick

Maybe I should be doing more to help us but I don't have the strength.

And anyway, why should it be down to me? Why can't he help us? Why can't he help himself?

I have found my sadistic side of late. I dream of causing him pain. Of tearing open the scratches on his arms with my teeth.
When I try to distract my brain back to when we first met, I get this pull in my belly that makes me love him, unconditionally and totally and completely I love him but we are not in that place anymore. We don't drink coffee and smoke cigarrettes all morning in bed while reading magazines and gushing out our plans for the future, our hopes, our dreams...now we don't even dream. We just sleep. Well I do... a lot. And he's never there at nighttime so I'm not sure exactly when he sleeps, if at all. Perhaps he's a vampire. That would be slightly more appealing I think.

*Present day note: In an interview with Graham Coxon he talks about toying with the idea of switching these verses around so that the Happiness comes first and the Emptiness comes last...that way around is more valid to this story so i'm taking the liberty of doing just that.