I got nothin'. No sleek images to sell, no stories to tell, nothing you haven't already heard. More piles of that same old thing, that thing that grips me and won't let the fuck go, that yawning depth of sorrow, that hole cut out of my soul. It's all I know, from that same old deep well, and I'm out of new ways to tell it. I got nothin'.
I could dance for you, but I can only do the Dance of the Dead, and you've seen that, too. I can't sing anything but the same mournful tune. I could make coffee, and sit and chat, but once again that same ugly truth, I have nothing to say that's new.
And so, we stare at each other, and wonder how we were ever lovers.