This coffee drips too weak and
My eyes are way too dry, but why
Can't you dream of you and I?
But who are you, and who is me?
How many pages must I bleed and
Why should I give my pen to all that
They depend, two pounds of flesh then?
Don't give me the looks like I am here
And you are there to their to nowhere...
Where's my hair? Where's the sky? Where
Can I trap my pain? In the forest of pure lies?
In the wake of my small life? In the way you see
My corner and all that you have ordered and decreed
To the coroner? But now I'll stop... because stopping
Makes it easy to pretend, I'm used to the clench and
Clamor, so to you, to them, to all that they condemn
Me to another another inch, another mile, but what's
Another yard? Another push? Another yank and pull?
It's just who I am to them, not who they are to me, not
The river of my dreams because those denial spun in three
Rules, and I am only one fool who finds it better to exist in
Cloudy ink, foggy sleep, waking demons from their whips and
Decrees. From the devil using me as God's sad and lonely reaper...
Okay, okay, okay it's time for me to stop again because no one
To give me their pretend... no, that's for other guys, that's for other times,
And I should just learn my place and accept and be aware, and be happy
I am here, with my hurt... this is it... such a beautiful, forever falling star...