I wake beside my empty pillow, hopping to the floor
As if preparing for a wedding,
And part the shielding curtains,
Ready for another single track.
In the business halls,
I wave empty hands searching for a shake,
Yet the rush cannot make time
For mutual exchange.
Little does it matter to me:
I drive my riches down the freed way,
Looking past the empty seat and into the view
Loving every day, each time made new,
Except for the nights I park the silver,
My freedom growing tired,
When I can only sit and part my hair,
Staring at the empty chair.