A day of this and nothing more,
that is all that I've to live for.
With my lover gone and dog long dead,
I've only these stories to fill my head.
No job to do, and nothing to be done,
I've become a lonely one.
No one to love, no one to hold,
all I have are stories to be told.
Stories of love and wonder
to make up for every foolish blunder.
A faliure at a failure's trade,
that my friend is the life I've made.
All my dreams and all my hopes
worked as well as a hangman's severed ropes.
All my wants, my burning desires,
they burned alright, right in the fires.
I'm left alone now,
wondering just how,
I toppled from the highest peak,
to become this thing, morbid and weak.
I'll write though, for the rest of my days,
of all the times I've failed in life, oh let me count the ways.