William Blake Overdrive

I will make myself, a mile from the racetrack, drag my losses home. It kills me not come back. And we float with parasites all our lives. There`s me with the geriatrics at the slot machines. There`s me, the embodiment of how slow life can be. There`s me. Their dead eyes are glowing. Mine are always shut. I passed out on the road, just hours from the racetrack. I saw Lamotta raise a toast. He said "you got me with the right jab." And we float with parasites all our lives with this advice: we learn until we`re dead. Be losers til your sanguine thoughts subside. We learn until we`re dead. A falling dream`s not just a morbid sign. It`s opportunity. These days I find beauty as depressing as years beyond my time. If you could make this old heart young again I`d find another topic to drone on, a more fashionable vice to lean on. Some better words to speak on that escaped my younger form. But there`s me with the geriatrics at the slot machines. There`s me. The embodiment of how slow life can be. There`s me. Short of imposing, please be involved. Can I stop imploding at every obstacle thrown on me? Imply this is only a prettier glimpse of a life so ugly that`s mine.