at the stroke of a chord- i lost what i can't afford-
tattered threads for my ripped life's fabric-
hair paleer then my skin it's tragic-tears tatted-
aged with no vintage-a loss counted to a frail mans image-
i have to do this it has to be done-
been killen myself for to long and my reason for life is gone-
make since to wallow swallow my agony-
each melody- from my guitar string-
bring -the memory of whats eating me-
contimplations of suicide repeatedly-
a broken lymric-
this is the suicde note of a stanza to a broken spirit-
paint in words words painted in oil-
oil runs of the paper when it's wet but wont wash my turmoil-
the hands of time-have slapped mine-
every day forward is my life in rewind-
poverty-no soverenty-
odly-though imready to be godly-
there is no turning back-the tracks-
to my veign-send a message in pain-
to my bodies frame-then to the brain-
and shows shame to my name-
in the name of that same shame and that cocaine-
that drove me insain-
i sit tame-waiting for the rain-
and the grim reap- sing me to sleep-