Some go out in a blaze of glory, some with a crazy, sad story.
I am not sure which I have chosen but it may get very gory.
I don’t care any longer about the skies I see
Or the dreams I’ve had that cease to be.
I am tired, sore and I hurt in mind and in the fairy soul
I know at this late stage I never will be whole.
I do not want to urge it on but simply to not worry
I want those who give a **** to know there was no hurry.
Music sounds dull, words are boring, what’s left to say
all that’s left is for a fool like me to pick a day.
No more pills, no checking, no pecking no heeding
no worrying, no trying and paining when you stop succeeding.
There are no magic cures for us, just pretenders selling dreams
and the rest get rich selling us on their schemes.
I will go when I go, doing just what I choose to do
Then the task of being someone special will suddenly be through.


Copyright/1/2014