I'm very slow, I don't know where I go,
My ass is wet with diarrhea.
I'm a perfumed man they say,
From piss the smell of ammonia.
My farts smell bad, the experience I've had,
And my shit the color of coal.
My hands shake, it helps with my snake,
Masturbation is now my only goal.
I think I'm crusty, fragile, old, and rusty,
Furthermore I forget my full name.
I guess it's the food that is not good,
Poverty always gets the residual blame.
Where does this path go, I don't know,
I wandered outside on ambien.
This sleeping pill, makes me chill,
Euphoric and literally quite insane.
It's better when I go mad, can't remember I'm sad,
And my troubles fall from thoughts.
I feel less stressed, perceptions not dressed,
In lurid colors of my past coordinate dots.
I feel like a spent match, no miss I can catch,
It's all down to raw economics.
I walk down the street, memories of many feet,
But I know the past never sticks.
Now I don't see the sun, hope its having fun,
Blazing near the horizon really red.
My life wasn't fun, just ordinarily spun,
Spool of poverty, misery and dread.
The bipolar strikes me down,
Either up or a depressing low.
It makes me want to gamble and fuck,
I fractured my hip fucking a ho.
The world has changed a lot, online I buy pot,
And get my dates from the whore club.
God only knows, I worship assholes,
His messengers in the worldly hub.
