My Manic

he wants to die in a lake in geneva
the mountains can cover the shape of his nose
he wants to die where nobody can see him
but the beauty of his death will carry on so
i dont believe him

he greets me with kisses when good days decieve him
and sometimes with scorn and sometimes i believe him
and sometimes i'm convinced my friends think i am crazy
get scared and call him but he's usually hazy

by one in the morning day is not ended
by two he is scared that sleep is no friend
and by four he will drink but cannot feel it
sleep will not come because sleep does not will it
and i dont believe him
morning is mocking me

ill wander the streets avoiding them eats
until the ring on my finger slips to the ground
a gift to the gutter, gift to the city
the veins of which have broken me down
and i dont believe him
morning is mocking me