I m whistling away
on Sacramento Avenue.
Holed up in the attic,
the people here don t know me,
but they don t seem to mind,
a homeless little girl
never did no harm
'til she s let inside.

Every day should be full of space.
Every day should see my lover s face
smiling back at me,
smiling.
She lives far away,
she is not my lover,
but I can just pretend,
life s been good to me,
and I m happy with my life,
happy with my life.

It was a troublesome drive,
the last thing she said to me,
she was locked inside
some right-wing family.
You say it s a matter of time,
well that may be the case,
but time is just a part
of time and space.

The longer my arms,
the tighter my grip.
The more I hold,
the more I let slip.
And I never wrote you back,
my silence lets you know:
the less I know of you,
the less I let go.

And I m happy with my life,
happy with my life.