There is an allure to the disordered life,
The purveyor has a spirit and a charm
That would captivate the loser that’s in all of us
So the fear of death and dying to disarm.
Yes, they’ve given our illusion to the shadows
Our control or inclination there to black
And they’re living in a kind of freedom finding
As they do not see the future or look back.
Theirs is all one canvas blended through with colors
With no image but the sight that each would see
When he looks into the chasm of the unknown chaos
And sees looking back the likes of you and me.