it seems so hard tonight
to let my blood drip onto the page
words turn to ash in my mouth
and i am left with nothing
but the sickly taste of tobacco
and a bitter pill to swallow
the walls of this tiny room seem
like they are closing in as fast
as the madness that guides
me through each dark night of the soul
i am surrounded by the bottles
that sing the songs of all my failures
and if i listen closely
i can hear the taxis buzzing by
the taxis that cart off one-night stands
and lonely hearts and drunken fools
and fools for love and the ones
who were much too late to the party
or too sober to enjoy it
but still i envy them
i feel old
as if the pages to my story
have been written already
and the cover says nothing except
he tried