The sun that always rises
Always finds a way to fall.
And the man that's always talking
Doesn't have a friend to call.
He converses by himself,
Confirming all his fears;
His paranoia's all he's got,
And all his walls have ears.
The dark is always listening,
The ghosts can always hear;
But his tongue is always ready,
His intentions always clear.
He aims only to despise,
To cut you with his speech,
To pierce your heart with his noise,
Whether whisper, roar or screech.
The words he says,
Every precious verb,
Every hateful pronoun,
Has potential to disturb.
'It can't be helped,' he would say
'I only speak my mind.
'It's you who is the weak one,
If the truth is so unkind.'
But the truth he speaks
Is far colder than ice,
As stone cold as death,
So heed my advice:
Don't listen to this man,
He's messed up, you see.
You ask how I know this?
Well, this man is me.
