Track 2: Spin the bottle, the birds whisper. I wake up in an empty room. The mundanity of life comes knocking at my door. Knock. A reminder of a new day. I walk into the kitchen with closed eyes and a body that no longer feels like mine. A theme song that feels like it’s on repeat. I sit down on the same green chair I do everyday. I sit and wait for something to happen but nothing ever does. Spin the bottle, the birds whisper as I sit and light a flame that will soon burn a thick hole in my flesh. Knock. A reminder of a new day. I walk into the kitchen with closed eyes and a body that no longer feels like mine. Spin the bottle the birds whisper. I try to ignore them. Again I light the flame. Knock. I sit down. Whispers. Spin. The smell of flesh. I wake up in an empty room. Knock. A different kind. A bird has flown into my window. Blood drips off the window sill and into my room. I step outside to clean up the dead. I enjoy the smell of the fresh air more than the simmering of my skin. Knock. A reminder of a new day. I walk past the kitchen and out the front door. My chair left cold. - I was stuck in the mundanity of life and sadness was my home, a perfect place for more sadness to grow. Everyday the birds tried to tell me to spin the bottle, to take a risk, feel uncomfortable, to make a change. I never listened and in turn grew sadder and more alone. The birds death was a reminder of how good the fresh air felt. It was this that made me step outside and then into a new life.