Enacte

Well helooooo Dahlings!

I've returned once more. Some fresh mountain air in my lungs, got away from the city for a while. Got in touch with myself, you know? Pet some dogs.

Things are looking up! The weather is warm, I've got a new job, and I just wanna....

SIIIIIIING!

Theres a stage somewhere. A brick wall behind a barely elevated stage. One spotlight, a stool, a guy with a guitar. Our handsome narrator.




You've been writing songs for all the wrong reasons.
For reasons you're not at liberty to say.
It wasn't to get rich or famous or get laid.
Mainly you wrote those fucking songs to drive him away.

And when you go to bed at night you're a skeleton.
With visions in your head too big to see.
And the insides of your mouth inflate and try to suffocate you.
It's hard, it's hard, it's hard to fall asleep.

And you've been looking for an honest way out for too long,
Because suicide is not the key.
And you hate the taste of alcohol and medicine.
Well the answer, the answer, the answer is plain to see.

So come along, lets get murdered!
Lets go to sleep and never wake up!
Lets find a loop-hole out of this!

He stops playing, throws the guitar in disgust. It shatters against the wall.

And everyone fucking claps.

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