I'm ending now with all this woe is me
For lack of metaphor to liken we
It's as hypocrisy within the will
Forsaking him it once enticed to ****
I'm not the sorrow I am not the pain
As well the grey clouds and the driving rain
Just the layman guilty in his tracks
We all long for the pat upon our backs
Might pen some cards with threatening recipes
Counterfeit inactive ransom notes
Befriend a shrink to diagnose my needs
Into prescriptions smuggled in our coats
  Much thanks from a pretender such as I
  You've been so nice I'll own the gesture why