Falling man

A falling man is shy and dull,
He ought to cry his eyes are full,
He’s far too high, he’s coming down,
He was chatty, now no sound,
He’s not happy, he’s not proud,
A misanthrope in a one-horse town,

Dying, living, singing, fucking,
Dead, existing, sung and fucked,
Pointless little chicks are clucking,
Just one prick and they you’re hooked,
All that pleasure, loss of mind,
Loss of faith of any kind,

Crawling on his hands and feet,
Nose down low for filth to meet,
Vomit at your own rank smell,
Hopping round in burning hell,
Kisses dry and palms are slippery,
A metropolis of misanthropy.