There is a line we draw to help us
Find pieces of ourselves
Along the way of life
In which the artistry is thick
But the ink is spoiled, sometimes
Crossing the centerfolds
Of grander views, highlighting heights,
Where the lies we share are ultimate truths
That shape our tomorrows.
Possessed minds, fiendish fiends
Backdoor beauties, what are these
But friends you sit with at the bar
When sorrow is drinking you out of a shot glass?
So when the lightning strikes,
Be ready to remain.
It's the trip, the part you'll like the best.
Don't try and fight it
You'll just wither up and die.
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