I MUST MAKE A CONFESSION

The trouble with being troubled is it’s very, very troubling
Always in a state of unnecessary worrying
What have I too show, the years they come and go
The have, the could, the should have been,
A constant silent mumbling

I know I’ve drifted like a cloud, my head up in the sky
Floating round the atmosphere, I’ve never really tried
Potential left just simmering the fear to act still lingering
Juxtaposed stupidity/intelligent insanity

Let’s celebrate this cruiser, pathetic half baked loser
What is he waiting for? His tomorrow never comes
Tie the bastard down (I say) and beat him till he’s numb
I think he wants to die a fool, this victim who succumbs

Shall I hold your hand my son, my dear, as if I were your Daddy?
I know that makes you sad to hear, that’s emptiness, my laddy
Excuses got you where your not and now you’re undercover
PLEASE get a GRIP upon YOUR LIFE or stay this way FOREVER.

This boy I know, this victim, his mind is always drifting
A constant state of statelessness, unstable like the ocean
This maniac, this weirdo, this freakazoid volcano
May never, never actualise a life that could define him

So my advice to you (I grin) is steer away from booze like gin
A vice grips tight with all its might, it doesn’t give you in
Those chemical affairs you have just strip you of your senses
The man you are may bury you,
All rotten
Bloated
Worthless