Backseat lounging
With thoughts less than arousing
Blinking through burning eyes
Letting the poison correct my urging demise
It's a daily kind of thing
Like clowns pushing on a swing
Laughing at my attempt to climb
Out of this pit of mine
Maybe the burning in my eyes
Has made my mind and heart blind
I am a fool
A tool used to help fix your stool
And maybe it's too late
With a past filled with so much hate
Hating the world, clowns are mean
Pulling either side of my hair making me scream
All I have are pillows to suffer my shrills
And some hills are too steep to overcome with will
Did you hear the circus was in town?
We're going to stand around you as you drown
But you don't need our support,
There's no net of safety for this kind of sport
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Backseat lounging
With thoughts less than arousing
Blinking through burning eyes
Letting the poison correct my urging demise
It's a daily kind of thing
Like clowns pushing on a swing
Laughing at my attempt to climb
Out of this pit of mine
Maybe the burning in my eyes
Has made my mind and heart blind
I am a fool
A tool used to help fix your stool
And maybe it's too late
With a past filled with so much hate
Hating the world, clowns are mean
Pulling either side of my hair making me scream
All I have are pillows to suffer my shrills
And some hills are too steep to overcome with will
Did you hear the circus was in town?
We're going to stand around you as you drown
But you don't need our support,
There's no net of safety for this kind of sport
Request permission to use this poem