| |
|
I was always trying to be an elegant gent -
Things went too far, it was not what I meant
Up there in our house looking over the river
There was actually nothing wrong with my liver;
In spite of the things that were said in the press
I was quite happy, and not that depressed
It was just ... well you get to a certain age, I suppose
With designer trinkets, and desirable clothes
With a gramme of smack, nightly, going up one's nose
With the acclaim, in fact, of a whole generation,
And records being sold all over the nation
And a fabulous pad and a beautiful wife
(The source, I suppose, of a lot of my strife
She made me want to end my life)
And every reason to carry on living;
If I felt sad myself, I could have been giving
To charities and so on.
Instead though, I shot myself.
I make no apologies for any of this.
Kurt, from The Bleed. |
|
|
