Sitting here with my thumb on a black hole
As of late I’ve allowed it to consume my soul
A temple made of tin, so pink and inviting
Til it starts to thrash; snarling and biting

I’ve let all the wrong people and things steer my ship
Let some of them command me with the sting of their whips
Cried, kicked and screamed “this is not what I wanted”
Yet still I sit here, thinking, drinking - utterly haunted