A rolling stone, hurtling down a hill;
A smoke-blowing rogue, with infinite skill.
A bearer of ill will,
Tumbling down, in these demons I drown -
I'm just hunting for a thrill.

I am a man fully grown,
With a depth of thought previously unknown.
In touch with the void,
Cold like an android,
Floating through emptiness like an asteroid.
Open your ears if you want your mind to be blown;
Spoken word and a gaunt face is all I own.

Nothing to lose, went through years of abuse,
My body is a slave to my muse,
Helpless, an illiterate knave trying to read the news.
Wilderness incarnate, running amok -
Gunning with no luck, giving no *****;
I'm just here for the drugs and the carnage.
Hidden pain, glossed over with varnish;
The soul is deeper than the oceans and the seas,
Yet it lives in shallow bodies, heavily garnished,
In narrow alleys governed by the Grim Reaper.

Kick your ego off its throne,
Realise that the time we have is merely a loan.
From realities we cannot see in any degree,
Our souls have flown.
And thus, the stone stopped rolling.