I rest my feet in ashes, lay my head on a pile of
   weed
   I sleep but fail to rest, I dream but not and
   nothing is given.
   I crawl though night time howls, the moon turns
   away its light, the stars seem so dim,
   I use the earth as a blanket, I kiss the dead, but
   they turn away also.
   No one likes the forlorn, no one is pleased by the
   meekly cases who drag back the good times to roll
   in the blank spaces left behind.
   I wish I'd wish for someone other than my own
   grave, but I know that I am too weak willed for
   that final gasp,
   So I wallow in the shadows till I can be arsed to
   get up and turn on the light again.