Is this really all there is?
Cough syrup to sleep
'Til an alarm clock reminds us to breath
What if we don't set the damn thing?
I suppose it is what it is
nothing more, nothing less
the lucky ones are born into it
the rest of us work
Two sets of fiery eyes
Two sacks of dry skin
Too much to do, so little time
Early to bed, and weary to rise
The girl with work to do
A boy with two thorns in his side
Of all the coffins in all the dreadful corners of the world
You chose mine, and I, yours.
Here lies: The King and Queen
of the self medicated
The whispers found a place to hide
Now we can age with grace and silence
I won't speak until spoken to
I won't ask for love like the others do
Just close my eyes and let the medicine kick in