There's plenty of space to hang my stuffnBut there's no where to hang myself in this roomnWindows aren't high enough to jump out ofnI don't think it's me only; we're all so lonelynnThe people I love the most are the one's that I pass quicknI can make them up, they're anything I picknI fall in love 'few times a month nWith the most interesting girls in the world, in the worldnAnd I don't think it's me only; we're all so lonelynnThe subtleties in their walk tell me all about themselvesnI remember everyone, my head's got big old bookshelvesnI want them to make me up, toonAnd though none of it'd be true, it'd be special to her and me: nA great romance in complete privacynAnd I don't think it's me only; we're all so lonelynnWe crested the hill and saw nothingnMight as well roll down, I said, we'll be dead in four years anyways.nOur sortie down the grass answered not a thing as we reached the basenOnly to find another, yet, larger hillnShould we climb it? she said. I don't know, I said.nShould we climb it? she said. I don't know, I said.