The hooded stranger on every door, these words that burn like acid
I cannot say but I can see: a raging stupor, lucid in nature, his mind eye’s current fashion.
He makes no sense, slurring lunacy to even the craziest of beasts
What the heck is wrong with him, I, too, cannot say – my thoughts a mind’s bounty, its feast.

Perhaps he finds him – or it, I’d rather have it be – his imaginary friend?
The only one who cares for him, due to be in his arms until the very end?
Its irony is clear to me, though to him it lays dead and lost
And still he won’t listen. Each day he digs down deeper, yet does he know the ghastly cost?

Soon he himself will be gone, if his soul hasn’t evaporated yet
He’s driving himself to death, he is, but of this there is no way to say without making the deal a bet.
To all who note how he is, it seems a witty joke
But then again it’s cruel, and mean, and upon their own blood I do so hope they choke!

And though he is my eldest brother, and I cannot care for another as I do him,
There’s nothing I can do to help, and thus to continue on would be rather dim.
This isn’t an apology, simply a plain old letter of resignation
It’s high past time you knew, I’m sick of the repetition!

It goes on and on and on, the world’s most infuriating song
Stuck on replay, rewinding to his traveling off-kilter, going wrong
I decline to look at him with a coin of pity in my eyes
He’s dancing on his grave he is, keeping his emotions without disguise.

Though his honor is his manhood, and hitherto I still not scoff or scorn,
But it is time that I get my fill, for never more will I mourn
And if it is his final wish to fall prisoner to other people’s lives, with dignity I’ll cry, “Yes, that suits me fine!”
For when the time does come, with him in Hell, I shall refuse to dine!