T.S.R.

The party's over,

a CD skipping,

it's the same hook repeating,

grows more grating with each passing second.

And the walls contain a resonation, laughter, and conversation.

It was fun while it lasted, but now we should be going.

I hope everybody had a real, real good time. T

he hospitality's partaken, my head is flying my heart's racing to keep up.

And I hope I haven't overdone it.

I hope my body can take it.

I hope I make the occasion.

It's only this fucked up

I start realizing that all this living is just dying.

If these are my friends, if this is my home, if this is how i spend my nights, how I communicate, and demonstrate a love of life?

My eyes roll into the back of my head,

if these are the last words that I've ever said,

no I'm not ready to die just yet.