Scars

He gives his scorpion shakes
And sobs until the tears he makes
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.

But he has promises to keep,
Until then he shall not sleep.
He rises from his bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in his head,

Hello hello i shout
things could be worse
You could be missing cards
Or have an empty purse

You could have an itch unscratched
Or a night without the dark
You wounds sore and deep
But they never leave a mark

He idolises being dead.
No Facing day with never ending dread.
Whose soul is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad and so

It really is a tale of woe,
He hasn’t anywhere to go
I watch him sit and frown.
And slowly sink and drown

Hello hello i shout
things could be worse
You could be missing cards
Or have an empty purse

You could have an itch unscratched
Or a night without the dark
You wounds sore deep
But they never leave a mark