I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.
— That smell. I'll miss it.
— What, the shit house?
— Nah. I don't know what it is. Birmingham, I suppose. Small Heath. That smell.
— The smell brings it back.
— Where's John, do you think, Tom?
— Fuck knows.
— He's gone, though, like a hole behind your head.
— I thought you thought there was a heaven.
— No. More like hell for our John.
— Nah, neither one. He's just not here any more. It's like with Grace. Arthur... they're just gone. Just fucking gone.
There a girl who's crippled by anxiety and can't move
when she looks in the mirror. She smiles when everyone is looking but cries when she's alone. She hides because she's terrified to show herself. My world is so empty. My world is so big and cold. I want joy and hope. Dean air where I can finally breathe.
The misery and the emptiness and the vacuous fucking shitness of their lives is so considerable that the proximity to the behavior of soap characters acts as some kind of consolation.
Never thought I'd have to retire
Never thought I'd have to abstain
Never thought all this could back fire
Close up the hole in my vein...
Suffocate everything
They complicate everything
They seal your fate everyday
But you can't believe it
Take yourself far away from nothingness
A million miles from emptiness
Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
For now we stand alone.