I won't do ******
that **** kills people

Beautiful people

and everyone
on ****** is beautiful
until their not
and by then it's too late
their already dead

The art was already there

in their blood
in the sound of their heartbeat
in the canvas bleeding out
  the visions of their pain
in the strings of their guitars
   screaming out their despair
in the late hours

  of rehearsal                

   of creating          

           of dreaming  

It never came from the needle
or the poison
or the high
and it's so easy to get lost up there
where nothing is wrong
above the clouds
free of the human misery
that sobriety so often swims in

who wouldn't want
to get hooked above the world
just watching everything spin
spectacularly out of control
without any of the pain
or worry of the difference
between whats wrong or right
or the longing eyes of the homeless
or the desperate pleas of the hungry
or the roaring booms of war
or the ****** hands
of mans sickening greed

and when the devil
has such a warm smile
and kind eyes
and promises of everything
that feels good about feeling good
who the **** would want
to come back down
to the hell we've made
of living on earth

as normalcy is the complicity
of turning a blind eye
to anyone ugly with suffering
including our own reflections

and if that's the price of addiction
why do the math
if the answer is finding a cure
to feeling good
and being chained to gravity
and the ground
when it's easier to reach up
and swim in the flames of the sun
and dance to the sound
of Lou Reed singing from the moon

about perfect days

and rock and roll

and dancing with someone
who just might be Jesus's son

but then I remember
that **** kills people

Beautiful people

and everyone is beautiful
until their not
and by then it's too late
and their already dead