Martin Tielli
Joey died in his room last night
They took him down in a sh** splattered elevator
Ended up in the hallway this morning
I must have been wasted happy
Sometimes I get so down
That I soil my big, big, big, big, suit
Mold it grows from one cell to the next
Till it forms these rings on the ceilings
The ones that I stare at when the sirens come by
Every evening at a quarter to seven