I'm sitting on a chair, facing the bedroom door,
My head in the clouds and my chin on the floor;
Eat the bread and drink wine from the holy cup
If I don't come back down from going on high up:
That fiery host would be my ultimate sad winner
Because of my life of being a sad, sinful sinner.
Coming back around, something the dealer said,
I was nearly dead he said from being off my head.
He's King of his castle, there's no doubt about that,
Lording it over everyone who enters his small flat.
Draped in silver and gold he thinks he is just fine
With his plush surroundings of silk and also pine.
But he still wears that label - that label like mine
Of being a raging junkie for a long durational time.
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