Here's to you, bruised, abused and blue, as we follow the cops back home.

It's in your reach. Concentrate. It's in your reach. Concentrate. If you deny this then it is your fault. It's in your reach. Concentrate. It's in your reach. Concentrate. Placebo is at it again. Hypnotizing me with their words. Telling me what I am not able to tell myself. It's not early but it feels like it is. I am sitting by an open window and letting the breeze tease me. It is surprisingly cold today. Just enough to make me want to snuggle back into bed. Every time I rise I see you, falling. Can you find me space inside your bleeding heart?

I was never faithful and I was never one to trust. I was never loyal except for my own pleasures. You sang to me and you whispered these words. You told me everything there was to know. But I trusted you anyway. And I thought being loyal to me would be your pleasure. And now here I am with a healing heart and no one but myself to blame. I was never grateful that's why I spend my days alone. Are you smiling? You think this is funny, don't you? You did always have a weird sense of humor. I remember how we used to laugh at Dead Baby Jokes.

It was drizzling as I hurried into the railway station. There were little specks of water decorating my coat as I took it off and placed it on the chair opposite me. I had just spent a week in Paris and was on my way back to Bremen. It was early morning and the station was deserted. I ordered myself a coffee which I don't drink. And a chocolate croissant I don't like. And as I sat there with my newly bought copy of a book I don't remember, I thought of you. I know. You love the song but not the singer. I know. You have got me wrapped around your finger. I know. You want the sin without the sinner. I know. I know.

In that moment, in the city of our dreams, alone, I missed you. And I wanted to tell you all about the midnight walks through Paris. The way the lights dazzle across the bridge. The Louvre which we both yearned to visit. The paintings that we love. The sculptures that we thought were funny. I wanted to tell you about the newly married couple I met on the top of Eiffel tower. They were there in their wedding attire. I clicked a picture that I wanted to share with you. You would have loved the idea of it and I would have scoffed. But you were not there so I told them in your stead, how beautiful the thought was. How beautiful they looked together. I am sure you would have agreed.

You frame the photograph and I sit on fences. Change of season, love can die. I think it is going to rain tonight. I can hear the leaves rustling urgently, trying to warn. And the strong rays of the sun are being deflected shamelessly by the crowding clouds. You better keep it in check or you will end up a wreck and you will never wake up.

They ask me if I am okay but they don't believe me when I tell them that I am swell. They think I am trying to be funny when I put on an accent. They think I am hiding my pain behind familiar words that sound strange. You were the only one who believed me. I dreamed of you last night. It was a phone call. It made me realize that I have forgotten how you sound. I think of calling you up sometime. To tell you about the number of prawns I ate the other day. Or the coat I bought. Or the book I read. The music I liked. Just to talk. Hear her calling you. There is a place within her mind with rains already falling. She's insane, this friend of mine. And she is always bawling.

Placebo used to be our band. Now it is just mine. You would sing the song for me and I would smile. You would tell me about how I am the first to cross Seine and how you lag behind. You made me believe that I was ahead of the game while it was me who dragged behind. You told me I never got caught in the rain while I was the one who got drenched to the bone every time. But you possess every trait that I lack, by coincidence or design. You are the monkey I got on my back that tells me to shine. But it's so cold and I wish it would just rain.