The hangover remains since yesterday, and so does my vomit on the toilet's wall I wander around like a zombie in the monotony All the time, I meet new faces, which bothers me The bandage reeks of scar-liquid and pus, but I'm unable to stop smelling on it continually The wind is blowing cold, and I feel like jumping down amongst the crushed ice-cubes I've sent you a postcard that says "Farewell".