Everywhere were the evidences of decay...
Decay of the sense, decay of the mind.
Caught up in all the dreams
that were left behind
or smothered.
Everyday will be worse than tomorrow;
Whispers of failure.
But somehow... somehow
Dear old Uncle Jude provides comfort,
Provides hope, provides a way out,
Through thickets and thorns.
Exhaustion, anxiety,
That's the road up,
The road beyond mental decay.
Fucked up states of mind
And rooftops.
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