

He's a serious self-offender,
The golden needle takes a plunge,
His death would be a sad murder,
The wooden pipes within the hour.
When narcotics turn day to day
Into a signal of decay,
He morphs out to his own decoy,
What's left of him, I can't recall.
It's in his blood, bug powder dust,
He's even lost reasons to lust,
The flesh that sticks between the bones
Is infected right to the core.
The aftermath his religion,
As sick as gets his condition,
The sign of her was a relief,
Just as a smoke is another breeth.
Long indicted by the doctors,
The last chance, the last layer.
Lies of the laws at his command,
But then again it's just then end.
He was a serious self-offender,
A friend of mine, or a brother,
His ashes are now in my tray,
If it's my turn, commit I may.