Where grief and agony struggle over the pen
Is where pain encompasses the X mark of the syringe.
Wings can't flutter thanks to a droughtful binge
That bent the rails the support my steam engine.
It's doubtful when the train hits the tracks
Or when the fat lady sings, is it really a wrap?
It's doubtful while my effort's spiteful,
I try to get a pinch but always end with mouthfuls.
I try to write it down but it always turns out awful.
Grief uppercuts Agony, but Agony comes back,
He chokeholds Grief until the world turns black.
The trick is whether or not the ink is black or blue.
That's how you prove which one set the mood.
If its black that Agony won
Meaning my life is undone,
But if it's Grief then I can sneak
Right back to square one.
But the ink turns out red
As Athena splits the head.
I hurl a thousand thunderbolt way overhead.
Red represents Pain as I bleed onto the page.
X marks the spot that drove me insane.
