Like an empty bridge no-one seems to frequent, Like the cityscape that looks beautiful only from afar, You spend obscene amounts of money on plants and cat food. And weird kitschy household décor. Sometimes it's so soft, you think there's something wrong with your ears, And sometimes the stillness comforts you. You day dream over people's voices, So loud, they're always talking. Why are they always talking? Soft jazz music rises from your vinyl record player You hate jazz, But you listen anyway. At least no one's talking anymore.