Whole lotta Nothing

Whole Lotta Nothing
Whole Lotta Nothing
A detailed inventory of the contents housed within the big heart of a dedicated, selfish materialist.
Price: $1.08

©1998 Ekendra Dasa

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Nobody loves me, nobody cares
My emotional wallet got nothin’ but air
Inside this lonely heart of mine
ain’t nothin’ ’cept for blood

How I wish I could be lovin’
I wish I could care
You say, “Now what’s the matter, baby?”
All you get is a stare
You say, “Come on, show me lovin’”
All I can show you is the door

How can I be gettin’? I ain’t givin’ anything
Ain’t even got enough to give a wife a wedding ring
When it comes to love I got a whole real lot . . .
of nothin’

I’m happy as a clam on a restaurant tray
And I’m watchin’ my friends get taken all away
Oh, but I ain’t got a worry
I ain’t sick or kickin’ yet

I’m all for getting something, givin nothin’ in return
But I’m forgettin’ somethin’, am I ever gonna learn?
When it comes to lovin’
you better give what you wanna get

I’m pavin’ my way to a bitter, bitter end
A Philistine more mean there ain’t never been
When it comes to love, I got a whole real lot . . .
of nothin’