My horses have all run away.
I've become a recluse.
I work late on the busy weekend nights.
When everyone's out being merry and gay at the bars,
I'm set behind a desk in a lonely marble lobby room.
It's a big desk, white marble too, like the walls.
I watch a movie alone.
I eat alone.
I play my music alone.
I listen alone.
I sit alone at my desk and I try to write,
and I teach myself French or Spanish depending on the day.
It's a truly miserable existence.
I shouldn't say that.
It's a beautiful life I have.
I have loving parents, I should love them more.
I have a select few good friends, I should talk to them more.
I should see them more.
I should drive away from this place more like I used to.
Down south, up north, anywhere, just away from here.
I feel like stagnant water and that's no good.
Good water is always on the move,
like the oceans,
like the rivers,
like the streams and the sea.
I need to let her gone.
No, I've done that.
I'm all alone now.
Oh, where does all the time go.
