It’s six o’clock at Monadock
And they say all is well
We lead our life
In little hives
Towards a private hell

Sit there, talking to the ocean
Gazing wide-eyed at the sky
Angels dance on silver pinhead
Thoughts and reason gone awry

Shell-shocked hair; and eyes grow weary
Stubble itches, teeth decay
Face grows haggard. Told you, dearie
That’s the price you’ve got to pay

Think you’re smart, and so talented
Delusion seems to have a way
Of leading smiling sheep to slaughter
And that again is the price you pay

Creepy little good-for-nothing
So much ego, so much pride
I notice that you’re always smiling
Hiding scars so deep inside

What do you call a worthless someone
Who it does seem has no goal
Than weep and wail, than convulse with laughter
End up scarring his own soul?

I hope you have a nice day, reader
Go dream about the flowers and trees
And oceans, clouds and golden sunlight
Bleak, dark human miseries.