Already regretting not move on
And once in a while I try new bait,
The life taking me to the same mud
And each day it presents itself,
Where could be the whole?
Surely even half presents itself,
Luck was certainly went missing
The dream every gloomy I do not prune,
And I plot plots in this putrid
That while I could view both misleading
Experiencing the clumsy misappropriation,
Now in gruesome scene diversion
The fleeting direction of an old river
On the banks of this hell, I meet.