What's there to say when all of these words have been spoken? I can rhyme in meter with my grammar all broken. My thoughts are scattered, scattered and few. With an ounce of concentration this message will come right through. I'm not scared of dying, but I'll look for success. A quiet strum of a chord, maybe that will impress.

See men sitting on the corner of a god-forsaken town, while I rest in the front seat of my car. Driving past an old dream, forgotten long ago by a man who sees the world pass before his eyes.

We'll wish and pray to stave off dismay of all that's been done and never done before.

Keep yourself busy, try as you might. The stage is getting brighter as you sweat beneath the light. Your finger tips are bleeding from your little Hollywood dream. It's a cut too deep to be healed by a balm or a cream. So you press on tight and hold to what you know. There's no time for thinking when you're minutes from a show.

Then we'll come together in a plaster-walled hotel drinking and singing with smiles from the show. We know it's all passing, just a glimpse of what's ahead. When we wake we fidget with our phones.

So go on now go. Tell 'em all how much you know from all those lessons learned with back-alley whores.
Fight, fight, fight. I said try as you might to see the day, you'll see the day.