it's times like these that jealousy creeps in
alone in bed and waiting for her call.
knowing that my life depends on him,
or part at least, which might as well mean all,
and even though i know there's not a chance
my heartbeat jumps a little bit each time.
if i only knew the tempo of the dance
perhaps i'd find a way to fall in line.
but i don't hear the drummer, i can't feel
the beat, the rhythm, only my own feet
and fear creeps in then, thinking he could steal
a piece of something valuable to me.
and one of these days, maybe i'll grow up.
or maybe i'll just call and interrupt.