Klonopin Clonazepam Sintonal Diazepam
Refill my Rivotril Don't spill my Risolid
Alprazolam Bretazenil Bromazepam Lexotanil
Dadumir Olcadil Nobrium Stilny
Halcion Hypnovel Tavor! Tavor! Tavor!
Gimme gamma-aminos but only if they're butyric
With Xanax as my hand ax; Anxiety, *This is War!

Some time ago in the furnace below
Grew restless the ruler of sin;
He dug through His closet
Composed a composite
Consisting of a violin.

The underworld rang with
Delectable twang
As Lucifer plucked on His strings;
E'en angels flew down
Allured by the sound
Til Cerberus plucked off their wings.

Eventually Satan grew bored of this, too;
That thrill-seeking ******* must capture the new;
So up to the land of the living He flew;
Disguised as a figure whom everyone knew.

First on the agenda of any pretender:
Extinguish the genuine soul;
He arrived in Genoa
Disguised as a boa
And silently swallowed him whole.  

With Europe His playground
The Devil, He made sound
That no one alive had yet heard;
He fiddled and plucked,
Gambled and ******,
Until inside Him syphilis stirred.  

His physical shell He now had to retire;
Back to the depths of the black and the fire;
Forever above will the humans admire;
The legend of strings; the king; the sire.

I defecate in forms of riches
In the pockets of you *******;
Strangle egos with my hold,
Suffocate the young and old;
Thanks to man I'll never perish,
As long as something's there to cherish;
I have everything you need--
I'll swallow you, for I am greed.

Hours on end
I stare at the ceiling;
Final conclusion-
There is no meaning.
Perhaps it will fall;
Fall without meaning.
The walls will then laugh
As they all begin leaning
Then fall, fall;
Fall without meaning.

sometimes I find myself staring at the ground for long periods of time…
some people think I'm depressed...
perhaps I am...
but there are quite a lot of insects down there.
most people never take notice as they're constantly consumed
with their own lives...
the upward glancers... the straight-forward perceptionists.
I wonder if insects ever get depressed
because we're
always
stepping on them...

Where does the money go?
I work, I toil, I bleed, I sweat;
But I have not one thing to show.

Maintaining highs but forever low,
I smoke, I fear, I fall, I fret;
Where does the money go?

Whichever way the wind does blow.
To myself I am in debt,
But I have not one thing to show.

An omnipresent malicious glow,
Resounding like a string quartet;
Where does the money go?

Perhaps I know...
Do I regret?
But I have not one thing to show.

Life's everlasting ebb and flow
Just goes to show how I forget-
Where does the money go?
But I have not one thing to show.

I had *** with your mother last night.  
She was a hairy, sweaty mess.
I took her down to the corner bar
And bought her a couple pints.
That's all she needed.
After a couple hours
I was down her throat.
Your mother is a real freak.
I wanted to create a romantic atmosphere
But she insisted that we just **** in the dirt
Like animals.
We behaved like primitive heathens
Lusting in a prehistoric heat.
Teeth gnashing, hair pulling, sweat beading;
It was like all the civilities had been shed
And we were acting without the aide of a
Cerebral cortex.
In the morning, you strayed silently
From your room and sat down at the
Kitchen table.
Silence.

Atop my ragged head doth sit
A candle - planted firm - alit.
Wax drips down upon my face;
I've long forgotten how it tastes.
It serves it's purpose in my room;
Eschewing demons spewing doom.

When I'm at home it shines so bright,
But when I exit -  day or night -
A breeze extinguishes the light.

People see me and I shudder,
Try to speak but only stutter.
Why can't my candle just stay lit?
If only for a little bit?
You know I got an app for that?
Oh Yeah?
*No, get a ******* hat