the phone and I are tirednbut im dying to speaknand its simple charge in lifenis just to drain and repeatnto rest inside some cradlenand be rocked back to sleepnand i'll wake you when I fearnwe have the energynbut an empty cell in this prisonnand im left here to bento try to and paint myself a picturenwhen I need some reliefna strong assertion of the truthnwould be a welcome retreatnfrom the front line of a versenor chorus this weeknnand so I wrote another notenwhispered words not meant for telephonesnnyou call me on my birthdaynwhen my friends have all gonenif you ask me how its beennI'd say its been to longnbut somewhere after twelvenI realize it wont comenand the words will fall around younlike you're some kind of sunnI know im supposed to pretent tonightnI care how it feelsnand how you felt when you're with himnand how you thought it was realnlast call for me was torturenI should have quit while aheadnbut the bars are never endingnthere's nothing in your voice to suggest we're still friendsnnand so I wrote another notenand whispered words not meant for telephonesnnoh baby dont you know i've been missing you?nAnd its been too long, too, too long for me to say I love younbut I donbut I just cant bring myself to say it againnwhy dont you pick up a piece of papernand a pen, or a pencil, or crayonnor whatever you got near you girlnand let me know you carencause im sick and tired of telling youncause im sick and tired of talkingnbut theres more to it than just you and mentheres more to itnbut all that other stuff you're never ever gonna seenThis is where I leave you my friendnthis is where I leave youncause I am tired of screwing aroundnnand so I wrote...