ANDREW: I miss you.
I'm not talkin' 'bout havin' the blues.
I'm talkin' 'bout havin' my heart chewed up and spit out.
I miss you.
It's not melancholy, this is a hole
that I burnt in the floor of my apartment kitchen
while my neighbors are lookin' in
and they're singin':

NEIGHBORS: Boy you've got to get yourself over her!

ANDREW: What her? Did she come over? Did she leave a message?

NEIGHBORS: Boy you've got to learn some self-control!

ANDREW: Ooh, I'm doing fine.

I miss you
and no sonnet will do
to describe the pain that's inside
as my stomach's thumb-tacked to my spine
twisted round, double-helix, oh I feel it,
my feelings are dope
my heart's the dealer
the latter got busted
the former he gets shot down.

NEIGHBORS: You'll be alright, you'll be alright, hop up off the floor boy, you'll be alright!

ANDREW: I'm freakin out on my bathroom--
anybody have an aspirin
for my passions?
They've got no relation towards
my rationality.
I'm a leaf in the wind of the principalities--
alright, it's principally me
responsible for being
not one, not two, but three.

NEIGHBORS: Woah, have you ever seen a man so low?
Can you make what's broken whole?

ANDREW: Ooh I dunno, but I sure hope so.

NEIGHBORS: Woah, have you ever seen a man so low?
Can you make what's broken whole?