I am not the charming who sits alone. In the night under the cold street light flickering and I’m left to myself. There is no one else to help me figure out when have you lost, wanting to love? When have you slipped wanting to touch? Now I am the sleepwalker, so you don’t have to tell me that I don’t have much in my life. When I’m the boy afraid holding up a wall with music and people who are young and alive. I’ll make you all believers out of these lonely sheets at the edge of my bed.