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My ashtray's flowing over, And the 'phone's left off the hook. I've been staring for three hours At the first page of a book. Day and night I keep the curtains drawn, And curse the very day that I was born, And get to thinking, How I need you, Now. I keep staring at my wristwatch, Until it's ticking fills the room, And the hollow sound reminds me Of the silence of a tomb, And as the ceiling and the walls close in, And the furniture begins to spin, I get to thinking, How I need you, Now. And as the days go passing by, And I never get a letter, How I need you. Days turn into weeks, And it doesn't get much better, How I need you. The gaslit streets lean slowly As I reel against the wall, And my musty head is aching As I stagger down the hall; Then I fill the broken glass once more, And fling the empty bottle to the floor, And get to thinking, How I need you ... |
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