I'm having thoughts
of grandiose things.
Pain filled lives always
sing for less rain
Your body comes and goes
Used up like a vacant hole
There are so many cigarette
butts lying around
Polluting the ground,
like you did to my mind
I'm trying to remember
the light and
asking myself,
"was it always this bright?"
It always seems like nothing
matters to you -
and I guess you're right
Right now it seems like
all you want to do is
fight.