LYRIC FOR SALE

By Phillip Morris

To have my means I have to toil
I'd sooner have no life at all
I work to have a life of ease
To calm my soul with spiritual peace
Who am I fooling?

I sit within my own existence
Watching worlds at a distance
What torture now do I pass through
To see the things only I seem to do?

Discarding life's necessities
Imagining clouds of complexities
Descending and ending our imminent birth
Defying our learning of the sad solemn dirge

I'm no sycophantic or dire romantic
Just a little hyper-ecstatic
Depressive, impressive, a little obsessive
A lunatic and a manic-erratic

Murder and thuggery happen in front of me
Lying, deceiving are all I'm perceiving
I try to hide behind my mind
I've given up hope on all mankind

Now as I close to a bitter end
No more I'll try to comprehend
Why I was born into this world
My thoughts are thought
My hearings heard
My talking's talked
My sights are seen
To those who care
My life has been