The hangover from yesterday still remains
As does the vomit on the bathroom wall
I walk around in boredom like a zombie
Meeting new faces all the time, which bothers me
The bandage stinks from exudate and pus
But I can't help to constantly smell it
The wind blows cold, and I feel like jumping down
Among the shattered ice cubes
I've sent you a postcard which reads 'Farewell'