I look in the mirror and see a tired man,

A man who wasn't there this morning.

His eyes droop with purple bags of gloom,

Will someone put him out of his misery?

The corners of his lips sag to his chin,

Whiskers are thick, hasn't shaved in days,

The hair atop his head frizzed and his skin scar an pale,

Why has he become like this?

What demon, what God, could let a man like that seem content with himself?

Only religion could tain a mind like his.

And yet to him his God turned his back on him,

not the other way around.

In the morning, I pray that I live...
But once it hits dusk, He tends to change my mind...