I've listened to too much Bowie and too much Robert Smith this week
And on Saturday I drunk so much I forgot I couldn't speak
And I cried outside at the bus stop in the rain
And I said out loud
"F*ck me, not this again"
And the poster on the bus stop made me think of Oliver
Made me think of you
I've lost count of all the ways that I am sick
And I wonder if they'll charge me extra
If my funerals on a stick?
I've lost count of all the ways that I am sick
So I'll just sing my songs, drink cheap whiskey and act like a prick
I've wrote too much sad songs and read too much comics about growing old this week
And today I thought I'd call it quits, I may have reached my peak
And I've lost count of all the times that I've cried walking home
I don't know why I keep listening to strangers sing about being alone
I'm not alone
But I feel alone