In the Plaza de Espana, surrounded by beggars and thieves, we used my jacket like a blanket as we hid behind the leaves. Your bag was stolen from your side while we were busy on the grass. All I could see was you, we never could have seen a thief pass. But I'm not sorry I distracted you. You lost your phone, your cards and keys. And I said I'd gladly misplace all my own to spend another night between your knees. But we both had to sleep alone and I woke up sore and slightly bruised. A brown and swollen souvenir from the inventive locations that we had used. But over here, the trees are naked. In the City of Love, everyone is ill. And my new postman woke me up again, with a letter for my ex and a fucking bill. Now I don't know what's going on and I'm just too lazy to pursue. I just get so fucking bored though I'm never short of something to do.