I'd rest on my laurels

let some keen wit

and crying awful pity sustain me

But my memories leak like a sieve

And fuel this fire

It's deep and heavy roar defies me



Let's not talk in vain about the weather

Let's take my tired soul off of it's tether



Poor me

Poor me



I can't reach the ends of this

But if I didn't

It would be the end of me

I need to feen infatuation

Stoke the coals

of curiosity and longing



Let's not talk in vain about the weather

Let's take my tired soul of it's tether



I need the glory

with lights aglow around me

My halo shining brightly

in tribute to myself

No, I can't have pity on me

So tell me another story

And I'll accept gladly

and thank you for the help



Poor me, Poor me