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The devil this waistcoat wears goes far beyond the stretch of your imagination, perception is ill perceived, assumption is the killer of you and me. The depth I can wallow bares nothing to your barren wasteland, pop another pill, down another glass, it's so obviously worked before. Stagnant actions, how the rile me, completely beguiled at the moss that covers you, or rather why you let it, why? Live in the past with that ghost, can you hear the sirens?

Self pity? Self pity?! I pity the fool that basis their whole life on self-deprecation, your dedication to this endeavour has done no one any favours, either drop the razors or pick them up to your throat.

The end.