Words in pen,
Pen on paper.
Watch out for your sin,
They’ll hunt you later.
Write, write and sing—
Sing in your bottle of gin.
Sing your crisis,
Your shadow parting from your below;
You think you’re a hero.
Whisper your tragedies away, into your palms
Bless the young lady with your hand;
Bless her with the curse you pain—
The poison from a blessing.
Now, you see her eyes in every maiden’s lenses.
They’re hunting you past your choruses of,
“I’m sorry, please take me back. I Can Do Better!”
They’re the nightmare in your best dreams,
And you’re wishing cancer was in your genes.
So, give your life to gin;
It will deafen you, and you won’t hear yourself sing vain.
Pen on paper,
But your pen, is full with your sin.
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