Horny, stoned, in a five star hotel
It's nice in here, outside it's hell
Ten cans of beer, few joints, and a pen
Writing his heart out- troubled genius, lonely man
In bed, half naked, injecting himself
Wrapped in warm haze, anaesthetized in pain
Writing life stories in poetry form
Success, creativity, is all he can gain
Staring outside the balcony, Arcadia he sees
Happy, high on drugs, real life is like a dream
Playing his guitar, making too much noise
but they won't leave this genius alone with his toys
Next morning, what happens? He wakes from his high
Hoping to himself, "It's soon my time to die"
Finding himself in a place worse than hell
Plain metal bed, barred windows- a police station cell
