in the early hours by Robert Steward

in the early hours, when my mind is switched on like the night light in my bedroom, i ask myself why you left me. was it because of my poor taste in clothes, or because my bed was too hard, because i shaved off my sideburns, or because of my broken spanish? was it because i got kicked out of my apartment, or because you had better offers, because of my english friends, or because i was no longer a novelty? was it because of my B.O, or because i didn’t give you enough attention, because of my dark sense of humour, or because i wasn’t an artist? was it because of the bad sex, or because i wasn’t like the others, because of my shyness, or because i was going to leave? then, i kid myself that i will soon fall asleep, that i will forget about you.