Grey is where I stay,
Not always pitched jet, or polished black,
Nor always milky winter, or wonderland white,
Just grey, every day,
So, like I say, this is where I am,
Stood on my selfish sullen spot.
Pretending to be happy,
For you oh so sensitive lot.
With your kaleidoscope eyes and rainy days,
Your oh never minds,
And come what mays,
Or my favourite,
Think of brighter days,
Not these depressing, depressing,
If I am not careful I may end up grey and alone,
With all the time in the world,
To sit and atone,
So very alone,
In my grey and lonely home.
How different would that be from the present and the now,
I am already alone in my head, face always set to scowl.
Howl, you all could in a room up on cloud nine, calling me up,
Not now, next time.
I have nothing to say,
I remain where I have always sat,
My thumb in my mouth, feeling sorry for myself,
Sorry about this,
Sorry about that,
And sorry for making you all feel,
So awfully terribly.
That being said, I am not sorry at all,
Hence I feel quite,
While writing this selfish sounding,