Trampoline

Coming down again
 Won't you leave a trampoline
 At the foot, of the stairs?
 So I won't break my neck
 Falling out, of your favour.
 White powder, speaks louder
 Than any words you're saying
 My flower, turned sour
 I found the petals at the end, of the bed.
 'It's just 'media-types' -
 You know what they're like'
 Well yeah, I do, but I never pictured you with them,
 Coming in from the cold,
 You're losing your hold,
 On a part of me you'd stolen.
 I've stopped, calling you when I'm drunk,
 I've taken the time to hear the one,
 Voice that's telling me,
 That you don't really care,
 I'm getting there -
 I'm almost at the point of no return.
 But there's a light that burns
 White powder, speaks louder,
 Than any words you're saying,
 My flower, turned sour,
 I found the petals at the end, of the bed.
 'It's just 'media-types' -
 You know what they're like'
 Well yeah, I do, but I never pictured you with them,
 Coming in from the cold,
 You're losing your hold,
 On a part of me you'd stolen.
 Just turn out the lights
 You know what they're like'
 Well yeah, I do, but I never pictured you with them,
 Coming in from the cold,
 You're losing your hold,
 On a part of me you'd stolen.