Not romantic in the slightest.
all i have is this yellow chair.
it's dusty and chipped, and from god-knows-where.
it was sitting in a pile of your shit.
i think i stole it from you when we split.
i put it in front of my window to look at the stars.
i wonder if you're with her, or at one of your bars.
i look at the moon, and i sit and think.
aboutthisgoddamnchairyou'renevergettingbackmotherfucker.