Isolation from Magical Thinking by Eliot Wilder

There is a man
In a shoebox under the bed
Living out his days in a diorama
He writes letters
To people he once knew
His sisters, his dad, his mama

Isolation, isolation, isolation
Nobody there
Isolation, isolation, isolation
Nobody care

There is a man
Counting days in teaspoons
And he's gotten married to some other girl
He is on his own strange frequency
Gyrating madly on a tilt-a-whirl

You don't know what it's to be alone
Listening to the sound of a blue wind moan

There is a man
With a box of dreams
And he’s spreading them out all over the sky
They tell his tale
And every other tale
Buzzing manically like horsefly

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