You've left me in oblivion,
confused and badly wounded.
A sofa and a guitar
with the sixth string busted,
I'm reminded that you've gone.
And watching the weather on TV
drowns me, depresses me;
what I'd give for you to come
in the middle of the night to revive my love.
And it's because you've broken my heart,
you've broken my heart into four pieces,
you've struck my heart hard,
what a disappointment.
You've mocked my heart like so,
coldly you've drowned the heart
that wrote you its best son,
what a disappointment.
The memories pile up
and so do the dirty dishes,
and the hands of an old clock
that hangs on my wall
slowly punishes me.
They say that loneliness
aids the feeling to reconcile.
Since you've left I can't even
feel my own skin1, let alone your place.
And it's because you've broken my heart,
you've broken my heart into four pieces,
you've struck my heart hard,
what a disappointment.
You've mocked my heart like so,
coldly you've drowned the heart
that wrote you its best son,
what a disappointment. [x2]
They say that loneliness
aids the feeling to reconcile.
Since you've left I can't even
feel my own skin, let alone your place.
And it's because you've broken my heart,
you've broken my heart into four pieces,
you've struck my heart hard,
what a disappointment.
You've mocked my heart like so,
coldly you've drowned the heart
that wrote you its best son,
what a disappointment. [x3]
1. lit. 'can't even feel the skin that I carry/have'