Cure
You stumble lone and vulnerable
without a safety net,
you've given up your will to live,
as low as as you can get.
A man without a compass
not looking for a star
to see you safely home again,
you'll find the nearest bar.
Drowning in a sea of gloom
your perspective's not so good;
true friends will not abandon you
as other people would.
You make lame and tame excuses
that you must rise above;
excuses are no use to you,
the only cure is love.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2006
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