Why don't my fingers reach?
Millions of grains of sand in the world
Why's mine a lonely beach?
Where are the heels to click to my clack?
Where is the voice to answer mine back?
I'm all alone in the world"
I just need…
Somebody to die for
Somebody to cry for
When I'm lonely
I don't need them and they don't need me
I guess I'll go home, try to be sane
Try to pretend none of it happened
Destined to be lonely old me
Whoops-a-daisy, I thought I was happy
Why won't they talk to me?
Hector: [thinking] Strangely, he knew exactly what Ibai was talking about. In his lonelier days, he'd often pondered the nature of companionship himself, and indeed, he'd reached a similar conclusion. There was something different about the approval of others, of strangers. It vindicated one’s existence, perhaps. That was what he’d come to believe, anyway.