I'll sit and smoke a cigarette with death,
before we step.
We'll share a couple shots of bourbon,
then we'll down whatever's left.
I could argue on our love,
and all the memories we've kept.
But a part of me is bound,
just to stand and accept.
I don't enjoy a wasted word,
it'll leave me bereft.
So I'll just look him in the eye,
take a drag and save breath.

Put on your smile
Hide your eyes
For the day is coming
Don't forget your lies

Walk around lifeless
Forget the stares
You must keep quite
We wouldn't want glares

Rehearse your lines
Speak as if your fine
Don't act like your looking
You don't need a life line

They don't need to know
They will not care
Darkness may consume you
But life is never fair

The blade is your friend
The blood your life
I promise I'll never leave
Love your switchblade knife

They speak silently
on troubled nights
whispering through the crowds
Somber voices
crying out
and soon
nothing else can be heard
through blaring deafness
in the loneliness of your mind
Listening
Remembering each word
and speaking up for all to hear
because you will reply to them
every night
you will reply

Those who Dance to the Music are
considered Insane by those who cannot Hear it.

But are we not all insane?
Are we not part of the same life of sound, music and death?
Are we not all behind the same wall?

We're all insane. It's just that not everyone knows it.
Which is why they're staring at me because I'm humming.

I'm sure everyone knows they're insane but refuse to admit it.
So they stare and judge.

Probably.
Of course, we're absolutely mental.
We're mad.
All the best people are.
But the really insane ones are those who think they're normal.

Yet they send us to mental institutions.

Because they honestly don't realize . . . we all have monsters.
We stopped running from the ones under our beds, when we realized
they were inside of us.
We're all monsters.
No avoiding it.