Alchohol & cocaine Still I'm moody Perhaps I should rent a video & pop a qualudie. No one understands me I don't know who I am anymore I'm so depressed & some times overly elated I'll implore, In the middle of sex I might ask you "Who you are?", Then bite your fucking nose off and tell you that I love you. Should I get up today? Should I play a new song? Like a window display I'm made of wood, and in a thong Christ I'm so confused In denial from the abuse So cryptic & obtuse BIG like the Spruce goose As Bi polar as Howard Hughes, left handing a crack pipe, and dancing in the rain. Dressed to the nines. I've decorated more seconds than you've ignored, to hippy. Go tell a legless child in Afghanistan how you suffer flower child being chemically unbalanced & when they nod off bored off their fucking scabbed stubs. Check their pulse, not mine. I am Bi-polar, so quit fucking staring at me. Try to understand my plee, I am a special case. A good person, a muse, a broken fucking Buddy Holly record.