drunk on the blood    stuck to the rug    he vomits nostalgia    as the casualties    watch him seethe    with careful curiosity    with a raw dialogue    and effort to waste    he gives his sermon    but his words are pointless    to the sober conscious       they breathe the same air       all is mind as mind is all    flesh is stone as stone is flesh    pain is real as real is pain       in a sad awakening    he finds a window    god it's morning       all thoughts pierce    as memories are scarce    and the cuts have dried out       but the terror of    the night he lost    still hangs his head low       drunk on the rug    stuck to the blood    he vomits nostalgia       I waited for so long    for something to seem real    I had so many questions    I answered all my questions    when I seen your face turn    and I knew what was real    and I knew what was lost    yes I knew    what was real