Pink and round and new,
newborn baby smooth.
Cross my hands it’s true
no more saving you
this is a prayer called Clonidine.
See the red sun before the gale,
feel the wind that shreds the sail.
Waves crash down, pummel the sand,
over and over, far from land.
This is a prayer called Clonidine.
The last song that I will sing.
Let Clonidine lay me down,
I don’t wanna hear a sound.
My eyes roll back so now I see—
no longer pain, just ecstasy.
Endless ocean calm and free,
no longer swimming against the sea.
This is a prayer called Clonidine.
The last song that I will sing.
Let Clonidine lay me down,
I don’t wanna hear a sound.
No morning follows these lullabies,
no wrens will sing, no sun will rise.
Just silence now, a velvet shroud—
all tucked in, heads are bowed.
Jolly green shuttles in my hand,
prepped for launch, no place to land.
Cross my hands, calm and still—
This is a prayer called Ativan.
A lunar landing, breathless, cold.
The stars are near, heartbeat slows.
Darkness deeper than the chill—
A cosmic flight in a little pill.
This is a prayer called Ativan,
medicine so profound
let Ativan lay me down,
I don’t wanna hear a sound.
My eyes roll back so now I see—
no more pain, just ecstasy.
Worlds away, peaceful and free,
no longer fighting against me.
This is my prayer, my last will
a loving embrace in a little pill.
Good drugs lay me down,
I don’t wanna hear a sound.
May 2025 song
