The Things We Do For Love

 There's a store

Where your ideals can be 

bought or sold,

Whore of horrors,

Chin up through this

Breakdown,

Marshmallow moonbeams

And all that shit,

It's rock and roll time,

Useless horizons

With a twist of lime,

The author died of disinterest,

A thousand cliches tucked into

His back pages,

One day I will leave this room

If I could ever find the door.