I stand high above, looking down on this earth... the place where my mothers and sisters gave birth. I smile sometimes and even wonder why, just before I notice the tears in my eyes. I lie to myself and say that all is okay, just to awaken to another white day. I try to convince myself that we're really doing fine, but this illusion I see is like the bum drinking wine. On the surface our benzo and little bling bling, compared to our reality don't mean a [email protected] thing. Internally we're ill and the doctor's a little late, while we sail on the memories of when we were great. Maybe tomorrow I'll lay down to sleep, and rise with the best of us, now wouldn't that be deep?