I may be onto something new,
I put it all into everything I'm told (I'd) do,
But always in the end you stand there
Telling me where I have been, where
I intend to be, and then that I will never be
Free. Should have been careful from the start,
Though in life we are all walking in the dark,
You had to put up with my bitter judgement,
While I had to give you my second
-Yet very last red cent.
And still you say I complain to much,
Give me a pail I will fill it with water
But bringing it back you would never trust,
It's a lot of work but in the end,
I know you'd still secretly take a drink, my "friend!"
I told you everything I know,
Yet safely-at arms length-your gifts bestow,
I guess in the end it's no surprise
It was me who was telling all of your
Modern lies.
In the end when I'm done writing my life's poem I guess I've always gotta go, so there's no point to even taking what I earned for myself, now is there?
It's always too late from the start, isn't it?
