Three days I’m at
home, doing business by phone, appearances trying to stall
It’s not very
nice, the strength of this vice, that has my whole head in its grip
The drugs I
devour, six every four hours, as I ready myself for the trip
“It’s only man
flu”, she growls, “grow a few”, “man up and push it aside”
But I’m beaten
and sore, I can’t take too much more, but no sympathy comes from my bride
I’m dying don’t
you know, you’ll be sorry when I go, when the bells for my funeral toll
You’ll be very
contrite, and you’ll say, “he was right”, when they’re putting my box in the hole
No I’m not
putting it on, my will to live it has gone, how much longer must this demon
reside
It’s been
thirty-six hours, I’m devoid of my powers, this thing it is messing with my
pride
As I lie here in
bed, it just plays with my head, the solution? I’ll just close my eyes
When I wake I
feel hunger, I cannot last much longer, can I please have a burger and fries
Who invented this
foe, away it should go, be gone, get out of my head
Tonight I must go
to a class don’t you know, even though I feel like I’m dead
Just like
Christopher Skase, I will die in this place, unless this demon I can kick
You can put on my
stone, just like Skase did atone, “You bastards, told you I was sick”
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