This is all there is to me
Boredom, disappointment and debris
This is all I am about
Rudeness, deafness and bad snout
This is all I can provide
A few thousand grave warnings to mind
This I can assure you of
In a week you'll have enough

In our mutual agreement of togetherness, I was alone.

Demented bandit
Redundant pundit
Fun time gambit
Screaming "Bomb it!"
Vicious *****
Cannot stand it
Mend it, bend it
Maybe tow it
How it goes
It goes all wrong
It wrongs no more
More than it should
But more it could
I guess it would
But that would hurt
Oh what a ****
The world is burnt
And I feel like a picture blurt
You've censored too much
Ventured too far
Gotten all such
Answers fewer
Violent fever
Violet furor
Volatile gore
Gory tumour

You know we are in trouble, when the heathen starts to pray
When the unruly child starts to stack some jars of clay
When the fashion of tomorrow seems too close to one today
When you say you love me and it's me who doesn't want to stay

You can tell that we are done, when the preacher cries for signs
When the surgeon doubts his practice and a mother leaves her child
When the artist can't play songs he wrote and teachers fails to see their worth
You can tell that we are done, when it's me who wants what's mine

You could count all my mistakes on stars that we can't even see
I can count all yours on less than one hand's fingers and I only have the three
I could drown my sorrows in some *****, but it seems more like your style
So I suppose that I'm the one to realise I'm not worth your while

To ****** many men
One needs talent, wit and pen
To create beauty true and plain
One needs quite the same

I sprung at the pinnacle
Unwriting my chronicle
With love non-reciprocal
I shall start anew
I laid bare in muddle hub
With beasts of animal club
I'm stuck at the stub
And solitude brew

My thorns turn blunt
My shields let arrows through
My life-risking stunt has left me life-still too
The echo comes from muttered den
The day's too violent
To youth that be I shout "Plague me again, miscreant"
The cave's ajar
The wounds are fresh
The head spins, body scarred
Treacle of death
The cold that swallowed me
It burns the soul that's spent
To love that reaching tries I shout "Plague me again, miscreant"