My back breaks every morning
Over the burdens I carry still.
Watching the morning moon die,
I wish I were an Apple.
This is not going to end well
Because most things end
In death or glory or the glory of death
And I am neither noble nor nice.
I cannot be better
Because I have tried
Many many many times
And only succeeded one maybe twice
Tonight I will drive to Orlando
And save a friend
With drugs and hugs
But I will still be me.