We all heard it:
Your Collision with the sofa bed
That set off one hundred thousand car alarms
There's nothing left
There's nothing left of me
You're withering away
You're getting lost in your systematic extraction

What once was clear, has now disappeared
And you'll keep playing
And I'll keep thinking:
'Hour by hour, hours spent.'
'Hour by hour, hours spent.'
'Hour by hour, hours spent.'

It's the type of thing cannot be kissed and made better