"Unconditional addiction" are these terms,
I think of this servitude as good germs,
I understand pain is an emotional whip,
Drink in this short quip: have a sip.

And when you've had your fill, just chill,
Break through this illusion with the power of will,
When you're striking stones to light your fire,
Will lightning be created? That's overkill.

We have an addiction to stimulation,
An addiction to nonsense,
Through every trial and tribulation,
I find my mind's dense,
When will I stop stumbling?
How about a continual fall?
Every floor has a ceiling
And every ceiling a floor.
Without these things, there's nothing
But a continual thirst for more.

Have I said enough, have we won the game?
When you're old and poor, there'll be no one left to blame.
Every stranger's face will really be the same.
Not one will be your family, not one will share your name.

An addiction before you knew the word,
An addiction to emptiness,
An addiction to "wait, I'm searching"
An addiction to "haven't found it yet!"
Too often have we lost our way,
Too seldom have we stopped our play,
And now that we have cut the rope,
Your world will fall, now, ain't that dope?

Nope.

Everything's addicting,
How are they put to rest?
Stop being conflicting,
Just simply pass the test.

Outside of reality is inside.
Inside reality is outside.
It's all one and the same.
There's no poison like fame.

I've been around the world.
Yes, I've been around the world.
A vast garden of trees and lakes.
A tender yet mighty beauty unfurled.

The only thing that makes sense,
To my eyes of pruning; whence,
Did I desire a thing with petals?
A thing with all love's contents?

I do know the world,
Yes, I know the world,
But what I imagine I know not,
Something called a girl?

I'll tinker here and also there,
A little dirt, air and my hair,
What grows here in my garden.
Will soon be everywhere!

I've tried to imagine this,
A passionate, soft kiss.
Manufactured by my power,
It'll be here by the hour.

Yet what I grew from dirt,
Hair, air, and a water squirt,
Seems to be a pile of mud,
With this I can't even flirt!

Oh, can't I have a dream?
Not the milk, but the cream?
There can't be a secret more,
To my new and legendary chore!

I feel alone and spiteful,
This garden's no longer "full",
My hair falls out like petals,
Or how I imagine they would fall...

I look over my failed creation,
And I give it condemnation,
A tear travels to nose's crook,
It falls upon my aberration.

Pow! Like this. Pow! Like that.
Sparks fly and I don't eat my hat,
because what happens before me,
I simply can't not stare at!

Her delicious curves, radiant hair,
Eyes like my garden, a loving stare,
I can't believe what I have done,
Because she is not just anyone!

She is my love, this I can tell,
My heart is healed and I am swell,
Now I can say that I did find,
The flower of my garden.

I've been in love with polishing all of my life,
Polishing trophies, my car, the skin of my wife,
But one day these things looked dim to me,
So I polished with abandon to set myself free!

Behold the splendor, the wonder and fame!
Beyond beauty, I've polished the frame...
I'm known for the gold in every corner,
Even my wife's smile: a littler warmer.

Tell me why I have this charm...
Two more brides on each smooth arm.
More of this and I will win!
In the light of all my wonder, I failed to see,
The chipping facade of my first wife's grin.

Yes, world, yes, I am the king,
there is no end to the wonders I bring!
I am Midas and gold is my soul!
You'll be rich forever!
Even without a soul.

My wife, what gives, where is your luster?
I wax here and wax there; I begin to fluster.
The dimness lingers, its shadow greater,
Now of my wife I am a h8er.

The dimness seems to have caught me too,
I see it spreading relentlessly,
All my work reduced to... poo,
Yes, this is a new test for me,
For my eighth wonder, I'll start with you.

scrub
scrub
scrub
Do you feel that now?
scrub
Doesn't seem to be working does it?
Just like that, seems I've lost my budget!
I wish things would stay polished at my wishes,
I'll abandon it all like discarded dishes.

The dimness is scratching at my very soul!
And, here I thought that I was on a roll...
No toilet paper can clean this mess,
so to the fire at my behest!

It all goes into the fiery cell,
Am I rusting? Then me as well!

We'll all burn if we worship greed and money,
And you thought the ending would be funny...

What excuse can I give,
to be let go,
to be let live?

My passion has burned out,
embers of my will burning,
no longer.

Tempt me out of my shell,
why don't you,
why don't you stop?

Remind me of why I failed,
go on,
go on that journey for me.

I'm tired, okay?
Let my weak heart beat to barrens,
and barren to dust.

Let my shards of bones,
rattle like maracas within,
the sleeves of my destitute muscles.

Let the scratching of my,
weary "days gone by" voice,
remind you to avoid my troubles.

Forget about me,
so that not even remembering me,
will rustle my grave.

You stare at me in the restaurant,
when I say all this, plainly,
your mouth gaping open.

My excuses have prepared for me,
a greedy grave; I stand up, bow,
"Excuse me." I walk away.