Nervous, painting madness on the canvas.
Filled with sadness, living the true life of the artist.
And the simple man, smashed the hourglass.
In the palm of his hands, lies the sand of the past.
Present and future, the light-bulbs flickers.
Burn out a few days later, no more sparks and no more glitter.
Cinder, in the ashes, of the fire
Eyes of the beholder, stare behind lashes of desire.
You see the world, you sit on the edge of the earth .
Blank stare, in the dead space of the universe.
Now what is it worth more than the sum of its parts.
And you figure it out when it all, falls apart.
and everything is gone, you’re here singing your song.
You want to let go but, something is holding on.
So strong, you’ve been living so wrong all along.
Woke up one dawn, went from a millionaire to a vagabond.

We’re all singing, the same, sad, songs.
All day long, and on and on...
We’re all singing, the same, sad, songs.
All day long, and on and on...

For ages, I've been spilling my guts on these pages.
writing the poetry, the paragraphs and the phrases.
In this little black book, of mine.
Where my life is defined, in all of these rhymes.
These are, and were, and will always be the best of times.
memories are so far, behind, so hard to find.
Impossible to remember, we’re blind.
Searching, in every corner, of the mind.
I get up too early, I go to bed too late.
Always tired, coffee gets me wired until my hands shake.
I see the visions of Remission, in the mirror’s reflection.
The confusion, poisons, all of my decisions.
The more that I walk, the more I see these tired eyes.
Dark circles underneath, never lie.
The more that I sit here, the more I notice everything.
In my skin, shifting, staring out into oblivion.

We’re all singing, the same, sad, songs.
All day long, and on and on...
We’re all singing, the same, sad, songs.
All day long, and on and on...