Waiting around to die.

Lookin for the old dream in all the old places, wedded to the day, crowned in the night. I surely like my home but I don't see anything in it. Paying the rent, thinking about future rent, and all the while I'm dreaming about roaming around with a true friend, who doesn't have a temper, who is patient and kind, and doesn't tease, and thinks my trembly weak scared little voice is worth a listen. Till then this ship sails alone.