Another year of becoming nothing...
Empty...
Fat...
Alone on the phone but nobody's speaking...
Oh death, do you have to whisper sweet nothings?
And how could you whisper sweet nothings to nobody?
A ghost among the living...
Deep in a dark forest...
Unforgiven...I swallow down a forever sleep...
When Morpheus arrives it's then I will glide...
On the wings of a pig not Pegasus...
To a shit pit of mud and worms.
Germs.
Gobble me up so I don't reach the day ...
I turn 50.
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