The Dead Phish are Grateful

poetry/nonsense

Upside down,

Painted up like a clown

Tethered to life by a string

Feathered down like a freak

Outcast, labeled, freak

Spoiled milk, friends in your head

Demons in your sheets, w****s on your bed

Alcohol and cigarettes, smelling of defeat

Looks like somebody skipped a beat

Contemplating ways to end,

Maybe glue is a means to mend

Whatever, whatever, who cares anyways?

Never did, never will, f**k you

Nonsense, nothing, freaks on the streets

Cover your face, hide from protest,

Vanity swirls in this circulating abyss

Facial cysts 

Gun loaded, steel to the head

Art on the white wall, blood red

Everybody please clap your hands

This masterpiece is sure to end

Roll on, roll on

How long, how long?

End, end, bend, mend,

Whatever it means, the end