This is where I spend my time
With this so called life of mine
Dreaming of past loves and lives
Trying hard to survive

I'm writing my life into a poem
Distant worlds far from the known
Someone rings the door bell
Somehow I can tell
That it's not for me
Another friend of the family
Come to talk about what he has done
What interest is it to me, the answer is none
The room at the top of the stairs
A desk, a memory, a single chair
A computer that knows my pain
Though it can switch off that pain
Whilst I suffer in silent words
Which people feel are uncured

The girls last like the rain
Just long enough to cause more pain
Old enough to know I'm wrong
To sing this endless song

Sandra calls, I go to her side
Her life seems more of a ride
I leave the peace of my room
To face that room of doom
The outside was not meant for me
I must remain in this fantasy
The room at the top of the stairs
Remains a prison that I can't share
Others can hear my plight
But refuse to recognise my fight.

The room at the top of the stairs
The rest of the world is unaware
Of the thoughts that dwell there
If they knew they would fear
As the stereo plays another sad song
The night stretches out far too long.

The fish tank is my hideaway
In it I can hear nothing they say
They call for me to join in
A game full of bliss and sin
So I write on, another poem
Deeper into the world unknown.