kidz are smoking my songs, drinkin' and sniffin'
welcome to the trip-inn, where magic is grippin'
the tragic city, neon lights, neon lights, demon's nights
i'm all in, never ever falling, swirling frisky, like a frisbee

45 to 88, made myself a shake
beat like an earthquake, first take
crying for a remake, dying for a remake
1000 tons of cheesecake, beafsteakz

yummy yummy, my past was slummy
so, you find tizzop where the ice is
my lifestyle is priceless, priceless
i don't care, nobody is viceless

how could one dare to imitate this flair?
i don't say words, i shout "yeah yeah!"
ipod-white teeth, you stop to breathe
and now be good, baby, get on ya knees

So here we are at last.
The final resting place of a suffering man.
Hold your hats in remembrance of a crippled soul who longed for a voice and died in silence.
This is who he was:

He began a snowflake, apart from the rest,
And effortlessly, he was a part of the best.
His wit was like lightning, his heart full of care.
And from a young age he was covered in hair.

He grew overconfident, failing to try,
When a glimmer of smoke caught his curious eye.
My love, he remembered, he couldnt forget:
From then on his fate was to all permanent.

He toked on his glassware til end of the day,
His assets and worries all fluttered away.
His friends made abandon, his parents distressed.
Yet he still thought that he was a part of the best.

Pride was his drug of most absolute choice.
His modestly, whole heartedly lost its voice.
Yet he remained steadfast in his pain.
For how could he blame his true love Mary jane?

She led him to xanax, ******* and some pills,
Til that fateful day he grew morally ill.
His only 2 friends to a doctor they took him
And from then on he was a man that was broken.

Sorrow filled his dry viceless soul
As sober induce evil took on a toll
He was a machine and the liquor his tool
To extinguish the fire of a born again fool.

Handcuffs became just a part of the ride
And capsules flowed in Like a north eastern tide.
The drugs like a salt dried up all he had left.
He was poor and alone with a craving for death.

He got what he wanted, that poor depressed man.
But a new one arose with a much better plan.
**** all that ******* with drugs and liquor
If I go back down that road, I'll perish for sure.

So what did he do, after part of him died.
Well he grew the **** up and he finally tried.
He tried and he tried til success he did meet.
And he kept moving forward, as one does with their feet.

His story's not over, this dead man reborn
Theres hope for him yet, his book hadn't been torn.
He rose most impossibly out from the rest.
Now hes finally ready to again be his best.

(Only you define you. No one else, nothing else can defines you unless you let it. There's always hope. There's always hope).

You are given one choice, my child, that’s all
if this goes to waste, you’ll be a dead soul
Be still, o restless
Be satiated, o greedy
Stop wandering, aimless,
hear the voice that screams: “Feed me”

That hollow that swallows you,
I’ve trod on it, too
this night so godless, so viceless
a boundless painting of blue

At least, give in to excess
if your heart still craves some more
perhaps you’d have more success
in killing the swarm, that you abhor

of butterflies in your belly
of whims, tormenting like crickets
of termites, as agile as they’re deadly
of ticks, bloodsucking and wicked

Or maybe, they’d ****** your last breath
for our glorious sister: corporal death,
which any mortal, like you and me,
can never, ever, possibly flee

If misery is really what you desire,
then seek for a death that deflagrates you, like fire
a fetid explosion, or Chimera’s bite,
that nullifies the present and leaves nothing in sight

So pathetic are your tears
So petty is your self-pity
If life stole your most blessed years
steal something back, be greedy

Be an imperfect victim
with no hope of being healed
immoral, filthy, unrestricted
may your flesh be a temple, not a prison where to yield

Stab in the back those who betray
loot, lie, be as treacherous as you may
perfidious warp to a diabolical weft
of the delight of revenge never be bereft

Be welcome those that despise you
praised be those who fear your name
cut to pieces, until they’re no longer the same
the decency that harmonizes, the kindness that disguises you

How many centuries can last
walls glued together with spit?
From the debris, may a joyous uproar blast,
the vital ****** of the fallen angel’s wit

Legends say that “to build” is the verb
of those enthusiastic for the now;
coincidence has it, that they conceal, perturbed,
how much of their own life they disavow

To die a little is necessary,
to unbuild every day is a must
so that it doesn’t shrink to a sacred ossuary
our own Being, to an altar covered in dust

Let it become a chalice overflowing with blood
bubbling with the rage of battles lost
don’t forget the defeated –their life had a cost–
as their last damp breath erupts in a flood.