sometimes for a minute
i feel the glory of having done it all my way
and i can smile,

and the sadness of it all would break your heart
if you cared to give a [bad word removed] at all,
but you don't,

what good does it do to realize that even when i broke
i broke in my own way?
some maybe,

sometimes for a minute
i feel the madness of everything being anything at all-
and i can laugh,
just for a second,

the aches and pains put forth in so many failures
should be worth something,
but mostly somehow they're not,

it's all no good,
you never understood,
and i've got to stop caring about that,



all the drugs and all the wine-
a pillow to my soul and mind down here alone,
and i can sleep,

oh the madness of it all would make you die
if you saw it from where i do,
but you can't,

what's the value of anything in this world of gold?
nothing's really your own
except a soul that doesn't quite exist,

sometimes for a bit
i can lose myself in thoughts of another way-
i can almost make some sense of it,
almost,

the places i have stood up and taken it,
the times i've given back more than i got,
you don't get it,

so you accuse,
no one ever understood my ruse,
but i've got to stop caring about that.