I'll give you pretty words someday 

Instead of the usual gloom

 

I know it's not much to ask

for lines about flowers and lovers 

instead of crashes and empty holes 

 

I'm sorry for writing what's in my head 

How much longer can we turn out shit about 

our suicidal, drug addicted, miserable lives

 

before the world says "who gives a fuck?" 

too late

 

How do you tell the difference between 

who's writing from the rooftop 

and who's never been there

but wants a good story to tell?