Last time I put this pen to paper I lied to all my friends.
I made a bomb, I set it off, and that life came to an end.
That bottle talked my fucking ear off, and it outsmarted me.
So I set myself up on an island, and choked myself until I couldn’t breathe.
And when that false sun blinded me I searched for things to blame.
Was it booze, or was it broads, or was it jealousy, or pain?
And then I quickly realized that I’d lost who I was, and that’s the day the music died, but with no satisfaction of seeing blood.
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