This is not for the faint hearted. Or the hearted. Rhyme to kill.

A hug is worth its grip in gold
When you’re in love you never grow old
Lift me up from my mortal bed
I may be going down but I’m still not dead

I look around, I see corners to turn
I touch my face, I feel my fingers burn
I lick the salt just below my lashes
My chin’s still intact after countless bashes

Everyday I realise a bit of me dies
Everyday I hear, a little voice cries
Everyday the pool I swim in is shrinking
Everyday motherfuckers are betting on me blinking

But the game’s still not over, the curtains are not down
People may be laughing but I ain’t no clown
Kicked I may be but dead I am not
My blood may be flowing but it shall not clot

People are just that, largely full of sloth
Made of weaknesses and emotional broth
Sheep in a flock, following one herd or the other
Claiming for themselves what belongs to another

But like I said before, the game is still on
Don’t write me off yet, I am still not gone
I am standing in the storm, drenched from head to toe
I refuse to yield my ground and fuck off with the flow

I got my jaws set together and my eyes on the prize
Cutting off those parts that are rotting with flies
And when I come out of this fire, I shall be burning new
My friends by that time shall be meaningfully few

So what do you think of me, belting rhymes out like this?
I hope it really fucks you up, coz it’s intended to piss
If you want life to tear you another hole
Curl up in your fucking couch with Chicken Soup for the Soul