Looking for higher ground 

None to be found

Just that rotting corpse

In the library


How you wanted fame

You'd settle for a name

Extended by letters

And small salary


Researching drinking habits 

Of that syphilis-infested idiot

You mark quality time 

With his descendants


Citing your lover's work

She won't touch you with a fork

holding history in your hands,

It says “nothing”


Drinking with your friends

Starting another band

Putting on the show 

With the grant money

◄ Thank You

Your Blue Period ►


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