it doesn't matter what i do or say i somehow always turn out this way working through grandad's rosé eyeliner keeping the tears at bay. she works in a psychiatric institution maybe she can sort out my confusion little yellow pills to level off my days work therapy and electrocution to prepare me for the big bad world outside i don't want to know whether or not she lied i just want that dirty feeling, her smile at the excitement i can't hide but instead, guess what, here i am blind drunk with an answer in my hand and the fool on the hill having the last laugh at my expense, laughing all he can.
