IF ONLY I COULD WRITE MYSELF OUT OF HERE. You’re fighting off the words from dripping down your tongue and out of your mouth. That cry no one will hear.. So you laugh as you sit alone, thinking of who you’d share them with if you could. Promise yourself tomorrow you will make it work, just one more night you’d have to cope. But the pain of the silence surrounds you like waves, while you stare at your opposite, the dusted drum kit which has now escaped you. What was it that you once felt for? You can't answer, only show your wasted face, the face that tells the audience “I am stuck in loneliness.” What do you think?..