Poor soul, grieving is all you’re bound to know
You burn the weak bridges of distant bays
In the barren shade you will never grow


You’ll reap the rotted seeds of all you sow
Doomed to be alone for the coming days
Poor soul, grieving is all you’re bound to know


Neither pain, nor pleasure, will make you glow
Stuck forever in your pitiful ways
In the barren shade you will never grow


Through evil, twisted words and forked-tongue woe
Do your everything to push them away
Poor soul, grieving is all you’re bound to know


In the haste of fright, you condemn your foe
Care little to not for the truth they say
In the barren shade you will never grow


I’d give you my heart for this final blow
Even for the fruit of love you’d not stay
Poor soul, grieving is all you’re bound to know
In the barren shade you will never grow

I may be just a partying sort of guy,
But that’s the sort of guy I wanna be.
I intend to go down laughing when I die.

I like the ladies, that I won’t deny.
I give them what they want, and they like me
Because I’m such a partying sort of guy.

I make love, sleep, wake up, and then get high.
My days and nights are filled with revelry.
I know I’ll go down laughing when I die.

I wear the finest clothing I can buy
And drive the fastest car you’ve ever seen
To prove I’m quite a partying sort of guy.

I never get depressed, I never cry,
But those who do have all my sympathy.
I’d rather go down laughing when I die.

So why are some committed to the lie
That life is hard? They must love misery.
Myself, I’ll be a partying sort of guy
Until I go down laughing, when I die.

Take me with you to your Atlantis
Where hues of blue glisten in noons
For eternity we embrace in its promise

Are days of sober in crystallic bliss
Are nights of glacial comfort under mystic lunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis

Wash me into a tender kiss
Too soft to be witnessed but the full moons
For eternity we embrace in its promise

Beyond boundaries of mortality at this
ocean, through the skies and dunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis

Volumes and arks fill up the abyss
with painted tales of Atlantic ruins
For eternity we embrace in its promise

When love dreamily left only to reminisce
as the ink of Plato seeped in tunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
For eternity we embrace in its promise

How far must the honey bee roam
To find an elusive flower,
And return to his honeycomb?

How long must a tumbling stone
Through a lonely landscape scour,
To realize its conclusive home?

How many do their fate bemoan,
Amidst the dark and latent hours,
Staining tears upon their cheekbones?

How do those, resting on their thrones,
Convince all of their own power,
And feign to know all that which is known?

Do we have power all our own?
Our own reasons to scour?
How far ahead is our fate sewn?

Do we let ourselves be enthroned,
To be a humble wallflower?
Or do we let ourselves be flown,
Into a troublesome unknown?

Her love for me was mellow
Instead of feeling blues
I always felt yellow

She was a weird fellow
The portrait of me she drew
Her love for me was mellow

Every time she says hello
She doesn’t have a clue
I always felt yellow

She called me a marsh mellow
She said I’m her muse
Her love for me was mellow

I sniffed into her pillow
She smells like morning dew
I always felt yellow

Once again she said hello
Watched my heart flew
Her love for me was mellow
I always felt yellow

It’s an instinctive unease
A lone typewriter sits in neglect
The dust settles into the keys

Everything in the room seemed to freeze
Lost to time in a state of disconnect
It’s an instinctive unease

The lever not set to release
Leaving the platen a dented wreck
The dust settles into the keys

The air hangs stagnant, not so much as a breeze
Leaving the room stale and depressed
It’s an instinctive unease

Some long forgotten face left these
Unused ribbons of ink and stacks of papers forever unchecked
The dust settles into the keys

A scrapped song begging for a reprise
Or a manuscript destined for reject
It’s an instinctive unease
The dust settles into the keys