Standard (EADGBE)

Boys run like water from the barrel to the trough.

They'll never stop their running.

Gunning for their brothers.

This house is a hostel.

It is peaceful, but it's always emptying.

Boys all want to be someone.

Haven't you heard? I am a flightless bird.

I am a liar, feeding facts to a false fire.

If pathos is borne, borne out of bullshit--in formal attire,

I'll score you a string ensemble.

I saw my son at seventeen,

 The shutters made projections on his naked frame.

Now at twenty-five,

 He simply cannot stay away from the ketamine.

With makeup on his sores,

 He spends an hour a day composing little eulogies.

Sometimes he sends me letters,

 But it's mostly garbled phrases and apologies.

Haven't you heard? I am a flightless bird.

I am a liar, feeding facts to a false fire.

If pathos is borne, borne out of bullshit--in formal attire,

Cue the Bulgarian men's choir.