I’ll never see my parents if they hug too many people,

and I’ll never see my friends if they are crowded by a steeple,

and I’ll never see my lovers if they die before I meet ‘em,

and I’ll never see my dreams if they are falling when I speak ‘em,

and my hair is getting longer 'cause there’s no one here to cut it,

and my life is getting shorter, the statistic slowly mutters,

and my boss is getting richer while I’m bound to fall apart,

and my memory is failing. When did I last hear a heart?