I'd been trying to do something with my life,
Any ******* thing
But i've always been too easily distracted,
especially with the promise of tangible experiences,
Like the seeing of sounds and the tasting of love.
He said just come round, what's it matter anyway?
And as I could give no answer to the meaning of life,
Here i stand again.
Nineteen it is now,
Nineteen small white pills,
And they won't do much if i swallow them,
I've tried that one before.
But if i didn't know better i may well try again.
Prehaps at the end of the year,
when it will be twenty glistening childs teeth,
I could try again,
Double the dose,
Triple the dose.
Slot them into a double scoop ice cream,
Eat up all my desert,
Then allow my soul to desert my body,
Once more, on a one way flight.
I'll postpone the inevitable for now,
Its what we're all busy doing anyhow.
But i've seen more in my short life
than hollow headed women baring their *******
for just one more drink that might help forget their boredom,
And sporting young men, desperate for attention in any form it may come,
Some form of reassurance,
We're glad you're alive son, we sure are.
He sat there in an oversized jersey,
and i wished he'd let me crawl up inside it,
To sit there in his lap and cry myself to sleep,
No, No! I've had quite enough of such foolish business.
It's in the past.
But isn't it all?
The past is never really gone,
I don't trust it for a minute.
I don't trust much.