This man is dying on his bed
Empty bottle in his hand
Suffocating from the drugs
And liquor he took
He falls as he struggles to stand
He's laboured so hard
But all his earnings —
Down the drain
Did the blood storm his brain?
Does he feel himself going insane?
Has the coke left his veins?
As he slams back down to the floor
He makes no other movements
And no other sounds
Now when someone enters
They'll know he died a clown