HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL
I am lost in a meadow of sinking sand. Touched only by the feeling of a blood caked hand. Last I knew was out on a one night stand. Sinking sand so out of hand, not at all the accountants hand. Existence shifted by by constricted throat. Someone, hey you there, someone throw that damn rope. Yes you! Without it and you, I have no hope. Someone please throw the rope. Well then fill my body, leaden it with dope. No where to go. Won’t slit my throat. Guess I’ll just put on my overcoat and grab another cup of coffee.
When Synapses Go Bad 