I’m driving home with subspace blues.
Feeling abandoned but I have nothing to loose.
I would return if I could choose.
To taste even more of your lovely juice.
I push down the throttle and keep going forth.
You will stay in Your South, I go up my North.
The burning heat still in my hearth.
Which keeps on binding like a girth.
Dear Meester I am telling the truth:
I am suffering the subspace blues,