I was on my way back from her house
Stuck in the train station
Watching the typhoon outside
The worst night of my life
Somehow got me inspired 
So I started writing a novel
For the seventeenth time

By the second chapter
I lit it on fire
I fell asleep
And dreamt I was Faulkner
I woke wondering
Where Am I?

I was at some stranger’s party
We pushed the tables back 
And danced to some old forty fives
I got talking to some guy about
Death and past lives
He recommended the Rosicrucians 
Or one of his three wives

She took me outside 
To get some fresh air
The stars were shrugging
As if to say who cares
I woke crying
Where Am I?

Where am I

I left a note on the coffee table
It said I’ll be back in two weeks
It turned into five
I got stuck on a wind-swept beach
More stoned than alive
So I started writing a novel
Just to pass time

One bright morning
I went walking
And in the distance 
I saw you coming
You said excuse me but
Where Am I?

Where Am I