What am I doing here? Pissing my life away. Sniffing some fire yay.
Sipping Courvoisier and I don't even like the taste. Bitches from out of state.
Pictures feel out of place. Pinot and sour grapes thinking What Am I Doing
Here, trying to pump this fluid into my arm just contuses, and like my heart,
never opens up through its bruises The lucid tears. I've eyes that can never lie.
Whoever may pry inside, they will find no illusion here
in a mind through which sewers steer.
The filth of a wanting soul always grasping where nothing holds.
The rabid and muzzled nose tilted up as the moon appears.
O muse! I just want to scream, lick the moonlit dust from my teeth.
Looking inside this beast thinking
What am I doing here? Pissing my life away. Sniffing some fire yay.
Sipping Courvoisier and I don't even like the taste. Bitches from out of state.
Pictures feel out of place. Pinot and sour grapes thinking What Am I Doing
Here, I got tossed in these leaves again; caught up in sweeping winds.
Every August it creeps back in I can't keep it subdued with fear.
My monsters are squeaking thin.
My conscience is leaking in through the cracks of my cool veneer.
The shame of a busted vein - that clots, yet the blood escapes,
and drops down upon the stage filling the cups up to the ears.
Drink of it that you may hear.
O muse! I just want to live I don't want to cry, suffering,
and in the midst of my blubbering think just
What am I doing here? Pissing my life away. Sniffing some fire yay.
Sipping Courvoisier and I don't even like the taste. Bitches from out of state.
Pictures feel out of place. Pinot and sour grapes thinking What Am I Doing
Here, killing everything you endear, all your measures of soon and near.
I will drag out your life until every fraction is too unreal to imagine.
The gruesome sneer of this dragon devouring every action. I'm losing sleep.
I can't dream up new frontiers. I still cannot phathom even a sliver or half of
just what I chanced upon losing here
while I was pissing my life away in the river of night and day.
When the moonlight is gracious enough to grin and entice my face -
I feel grateful, O muse,
to drudgingly do whatever
the fuck am I doing here?