Many of us spend our lives trying to believe in something and whatever that thing is, we dedicate our lives to it. Maybe that very thing which gives us a purpose to live becomes the one thing we are willing to die for, oh what a sweet and frightening paradox. How many moments do we waste whilst living for whatever’s next? Maybe these human beliefs make the concept of death easier but what’s the cost? Do we waste our guaranteed lives longing for a fictional one? Or do we squander eternal life living for temporary pleasure? I’m no master poker player but when I do play, I play whatever hand I’m dealt, not the hand I wish I was dealt and I certainly don’t let someone else tell me how to play the cards they’ve never seen. Maybe I win, perhaps I lose but at least I played it my way.


The idea of heaven

Has me waking in hell

In bed at eleven

I just want to feel well

Taking the seventy seventh

False cure that they sell

Angel numbers and tarot cards

Want something to believe in

When living gets too hard

Thinking on staying or leaving

One more thought to disregard

Tired of misconceiving

There’s a mystic I’m attempting to find

Some place I’m trying to go

Need a shaman to clear my mind

Show me all I don’t know

A miracle fix of any kind

Let me trust your placebo

Went to Cassadega to find serenity

Met a spirit guide

He offered me a remedy

My eyes were open wide

When the man said he remembered me

Long after we’d both already died

Sick and ghostly pale

Looking for my very own foil

A dog chasing his tail

Head buried in the soil

I’ll buy whatever’s for sale

So sell me your fine snake oil