Your blood, sweat, and tears.
They marvel at your good fortune.
Slack-jawed, the element of surprise.
Return the compliment, I'm not worthy.
Disappeared when they seek out favors.
Help you off the pale horse of pestilence.
You don't feel fucking lucky, do you punk?
Bury me during the equinox.
A bottle of Beam in my honor.
Don't seek praise in my presence.
This is the last time, we'll be together.
I'm plagued by circumstances and imperfection.
No avenue of escape from my prison house brain.
Optimism is the unsung hero, left off closing credits.
Mental health steadily declines, along with the economy.