January morning fate,
spun & lost this night awake.
Twenty seven years of waste,
twenty seven years too late.
Forgotten dreams where candles gleam.
Glowing past vast tombs I see.
Velvet crest of jesting scrolls.
Lost in fields that no one knows.
So happy Birthday to me myself,
fuck it all, what the hell.
Another year of hopeless thoughts,
another twenty seven years to crop.