I feel empty and alone
Maybe that's the way it should be
With only myself left
To watch over me
I don't know what's left to say
I've loved you every single day
But love and life
Ain't got a whole lot to do with me
So I write another book
Take another job
Lose my ******* self
In the workahol
Another sleepless night
Another deadline to write
I'm killing myself
In the only way that people praise
Suicide isn't quick
Now it takes forty years
Eleven left to go, I guess