I have a deep ingrained fear
That I will end up like Jay Gatsby.
He waited his entire life --
Built an empire off a ferocious love --
And died in a pool he never swam in.

The girl who made too many promises
Never really cared for him in the end.
She threw money around until it cluttered --
And he was lying in a pool of his own blood --
But Daisy was the result of grief and passion anyway.

If I had a choice -- which is unlikely, nevertheless
I would beg Fitzgerald to never write me in that story.
None of the characters were actually happy --
They were all driven insane by money and alcohol --
And people call it a ******* love story.