"'Till one and one are one, eleven." -Maynard James Keenan
One still, one be, two are, three see.
Five hours gone and eight minutes wasted.
Still one forbids. One fights to see.
Two friends might be
Three times frustrated.
Five more drinks for me.
Eight o'clock in the morning is a bit early.
Try me after thirteen cups of espresso in my
System. Fuck up at twenty one years of age
And I live with my condemnation.
One more thing to experience.
One more thing to see.
Still the two hazy eyes stare at me.
Three punches to the stomach, still conscious,
But out of breath.
Until five o'clock comes round I'm down
For the count.. Kill my eight hanging headaches
From the alcohol I've consumed.
One more eye.
Still one more eye.
Two paces left in this journey.
Sill I've to wait for the third eye.
My five sense are not enough.
I must experience more.
At eight at night I'll succumb to my
Thirteen letters from my beloved.
Pristine, virgin letters in my hands.
Twenty plus one minute I've to stand
By this ludicrous attempt at renewal.
Please let me have one night,
Just one day.
Two days, and I continue to walk.