written by: John Patrick Robbins
Just like the mad monk I have passion for everything that is never meant to be.
Women, drink and everything from a class in which I do not belong.
I want to fuck until my heart gives out loving none and drink until the fire will no longer embrace my lips.
Freedom is an early grave and I simply don’t give a fuck to fade a sad portrait of the man I once knew.
Kill me three times and the fourth will be the charm.
A madman is simply sane with a dash of chaos.
The cold water grave will do any man in and we all must go so why not with style.
Fires of the poet linger upon the page and in life I care to serve only myself.
I understand the madness for it was the only place from which a poor child could grow from a dream.
Rasputin, we share a common interest and it will kill us just the same.
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