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Once upon a time there was more to me
than a fatuous old man adrift on an endless sea.
I had purpose, I had life, I had dreams and I had plans
and though all that’s escaped me now
I still don’t know why or how.
How did I lose my bearings, my desire, my way?
I’d love to cure my illness but just keep getting sicker every day.

I rise up in the morning but I really don’t know why;
see the stars up in the heavens and release a little sigh.
I’ve no idea where I’m going as my soul just slowly dies,
I’m always on the verge of weeping but, of course, big boys don’t cry.

The world is filled with wonders but nothing truly interests me
and even walking on flat ground feels like climbing steepest mountain scree.
I take a small step forward but then I slide on back
my emotions are so ragged; like I’m under constant attack.

I’ve consulted doctors looking for a cure
I got one who’s gonna cut me but to torment I’ve grown inured.
Seems like every single moment I’m in some kind of pain;
agony needs no prompting from frigid weather or from rain.

Rising out of bed can be a monumental task
only thing that’s worse is slow wasting from sitting on my ass.
It’s such a grating torment working hard to slow decline,
knowing if I don’t make an effort I’ll just fall further behind.
Further behind the eight-ball that’s gonna pocket me
feel like I’m heading for demise, toward a hole that all can see.

We all ride into the sunset, it is our common end,
I just was not prepared for pain of my torturous descent.
Every day I seem to burrow down a little more
once my body’s six feet underground there’ll be no me left to restore.

Once upon a time there was more to me
than a fatuous old man adrift on an endless sea.
I had purpose, I had life, I had dreams and I had plans
and though all that’s escaped me now
I still don’t know why or how.
How did I lose my bearings, my desire, my way?
I’d love to cure my illness but just keep getting sicker every day.

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