Take me to the man who teaches,
How to sell one's misery.
What foul lie is it he preaches,
That promises, to set me free?
For if I could sell depression,
Mania, sleeplessness, and vice.
He can have all my possessions,
I won't haggle over price.
You are the ink that fuels my pen,
Demanding always, just another line,
And when I've written yet another ten,
You ask for more, and I cannot deny.
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