Snakes and bones and musical thrones.
Wife’s long gone. The son won’t come home.
Here you stand, king of the hill.
Miserable and angry, a bitter pill.

You set it afire to watch it all burn,
Now all you can do is sit and yearn
For the things you had fore you run them away.
A love, a child, and friends that would stay.

Crazy man, look at it now
Your dreams at your feet, rancid and foul.
You thought you could keep everyone close
With meanness, and gruffness, and a superior pose.

But they finally ran, ran for the hills
Left you alone with your venom and ills.
Left you to think til the thinking is done
About what could have been with a wife and a son.  

Old man, lay down and take it all in.
Loneliness, quiet, solitude, gin.
You’ll die right there with that scowl on your face
Years from now. You’ve no grit or grace.

You’ve nothing at all to show for this life,
No plates nor bowls, no forks, spoons or knives.
No blankets, no warmth, no hand mended shirt.
No bread in the oven. A floor covered with dirt.

So count your money, stack your gold
Skimp on the minimum, scrape off the mold.
Deny the kindness, and all good, abase.
Grip tightly to things, and lose love’s embrace.