VII blocked

Sometimes there's just an echo hollowed out.
A shadow of a shadow of itself.
And all the words you've ever thought about,
Are already in books upon your shelf.
Your smile is as tired as its face,
The rest of you's the bluest sort of blue,
Just cold and tired and every out of place,
Quite out of time, and out of patience too.
You've waisted half the night with the TV
Watching too many couples getting wooed,
You've had a few too many cups of tea,
The chocolate cake's not sex, it's barely food.
    You're out of lines with which you can complain,
     So now revise, and listen to the rain.