silently spend your time oversexed and can't find a day to unwind.
your energy's gone into your biggest fantasy instead of the man you used to be.
struck with a moral dilemma, two peas in a pod blown away through stormy weather.
never to return, always on the run, seasick with eyes bloodshot lacking sun.
what is this face that looks into my mirror, sullen with a taste of pain
always hesitant on what to do, but would you really call him insane?
alone again, he wakes up silent waiting for the day to begin
within a hollow body, his heart beats softly to the rhythm of the wind
the attitude of a broken man
quietly aging in the dark
his eyelids with worn black bags
hoping to find a spark
contempt found in his ever changing moods
splitting one day at a time
so confused, desolate and alone,
if he could only find a sign
what's the point of waking up if you have nothing to look forward to?
he speaks each morning beneath his breath
wisecracks of the summertime inching into a dribbling bore
the longer he stays awake, the more he becomes a pest.
eaten up alive by the world that he loved so much
dreaming away a life of happiness
if only he could smoke the residue of the day
perhaps the light will bring well needed rest.