Broken and forlorn, it was
Barely worth the price, because
He smothered himself in his dreams
Tried to wake up, he only burst at the seams
You know he's sickened, but still a man
He doesn't think that he can
Be himself

Outlines of tears around his eyes
Slightly relieved but otherwise
He's never going to be the same
Tried to wake up, but then he came apart again
A little time for sacrifice
He thought it would be better with ice
But no

Poor blighter's cold as he shivers and shakes
He feels so old, but only when he is awake
And when he's not he can just crack a smile
Being unconscious means being less puerile
Silly little narcissist, or so he used to be
Alright to be a narcissist, but not such a one as he.