Why will he throw his body to the breeze?
Because boredom is a nervous disease.

In a clapboard boarding house I lie
And I am half-organic;
Several days ago, a new friend
Smiled. I watched his unscarred hands extend
An invitation cordial;
A half-hour, and I knew the panic
Tasted on the air potential *****,
Eyeballs rolling from the ordeal.

Now I feel a man primordial
A human made to mould.
A person finds there’s constance in decay
When all their friends are cold.

The salt that seeps from cracks in fractured stonework
Kills the man that drinks, in desperation, from the walls.
It spreads a web of sordid dreams across the glass behind his eyes
And his lies cannot overcome
His fingers cannot overcome
The darkness, though he tries.
And thus the man that drinks in desperation from the stonework dies
And nothing but the walls will close his eyes.