This man is dying on his bed
Empty bottle in his hand
Suffocating from the drugs
And liquor he took
He falls as he struggles to stand
He's laboured so hard
But all his earnings —
Down the drain
Did the blood storm his brain?
Does he feel himself going insane?
Has the coke left his veins?
As he slams back down to the floor
He makes no other movements
And no other sounds
Now when someone enters
They'll know he died a clown

I pick up my pen
Like it's an anchor to the living
Oh to be a fool in love with death

𝓦𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴, 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵...
          𝓦𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓽, 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓽𝓮𝔁𝓽.

𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸...
         "𝓘 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓪 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝔂𝓸𝓾."

𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪 𝓯𝓸𝓸𝓵...
         𝓓𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓽𝓾𝓷𝓮

this is where all the secrets are held
in the smell of yesterday's rain in the air
in the dark, and in that pool
in the little moonlight patch falling on my bed
with the window open and the air cool
and the night young and wild and a fool

A pencil is
Such a wonderful tool.
Sharpen it well,
Or you will write like a fool.

Only a fool could have discovered such purls of wisdom.

I refuse to diffuse myself
I refuse to refuse myself of these bubbling feelings
you brought me to a boil
you tried to be my character foil
scrub and rub myself clean of your imprinted kisses
but my mind is still tattooed by all your smooth moves
I was too naive and you were too cool
made me question my reality, made me lessen my sexuality
walking the line for someone again like the fool