The happiest man I see all day
cleans up after us depressed college kids
While we chase jobs that aren't our dreams
And drown ourselves in liquor so we don't feel a thing
While we smoke ciggerates to exhale all the pain
And it really makes me wonder what were doing here if the happiest man I see all I day is only just a janitor.

I talk in a way,
that, the things that I say
Start to portray
how my sanity plays,
In the hands of the devil......
A subtle treble.

Her body is poetry and her curves are the words.
Her eyes are the hook and her lips, a cryptic verse.
As much as she pours out, there's not much you'll really know.
There's memories she hides, and even more that she won't let go.
She's simple at its best, yet chaotic at her worst.
She'll catch you with her hook, and leave you with her verse.