resltlessly lying in my bed
my hair strewn ’bout my head
i ponder now my own existence
and find it makes no form of sense
to love, to lose; and then to cry
come pain and wanting that i die
to live, to love; to love, to lose
to see things from another’s shoes
if i be asked i’ll take a chance
on Satan and his fiery lance
than ponder just what it means
one man has riches, another beans
till then i am, just quite content
to lie in bed and just lament