[?7hExempt.Sick
ening, pitiful, shell of man,sp
inning upon his porch again.
In his chair, forever waiting,
forever loving, forever hating.
Rolling across the woo
dwork now,sweat come rolling across his brow
.He raises his arm to cleanse his face,
realizing impurity in another pl
ace.He finds his thoughts con
fusing,he finds his death so 
amusing.Thinking about a halt of
 thinking,trying to accomplis
h it by drinking.Pondering the h
appiness of life,hatred is st
abbing him like a knife.Beating 
his head upon his chair,has no eff
ect upon her stare.Starin
g into his eyes so bright,someone 
knows this isn't right.Glarin
g as this stare became,seeri
ng, burning his poor man's brain.Tu
rning, turning, again he spins,f
alling from his chair again
.Falling, falling, fallen man,
getting away from this, no one can.
Running, running, from himse
lf,
no escape, save death itself.
Trying, dying, pitiful attempt,
but from deaths freedom this man is exe
mpt.