flowers of paper and duct tape
line the walls of my special place
wine of apple in a plastic cup
in my hand
tunes of woe spilling forth from speakers
made of glass and tin
through my ripped curtains
i can see the fractured moon
dyed red
with flames of the setting sun
blasted clear skies
won’t you send some rain
give me an excuse
to lock myself away
too tired for sleep
on the pallet on the floor in the corner of my rented room
poking at cold pad thai with a dirty spoon
rock bottom
is so far above my head
be firm be strong
but i wanna storm the town and
paint it all red
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