A good friend of mine,
used to live down the hall from me
in a small fragile cage of ivory white bones.
A frail red muscle he was,
with veins and arteries,
all jammed and mingled within a slightly clogged aorta.
Clogged and tight
from excessive amounts of ingested brine
over my lifetime.
With you and only you,
I'll be quite frank, quite honest,
he was an extremely squeamish fellow,
to say the least,
and felt sick to the very sight of his own red blood.
And from what I've noticed,
from all the years we've been together,
he never really understood the importance of his job.
The very job of keeping a running bass line.
Bohm. Bohm Bohm. Bohm.
For he was tenant to my small apartment complex,
he kept me going,
he paid my mortgage,
he kept me beating,
he paid my bills,
but most importantly to me personally,
he kept me alive,
and to me that was more important
than a silly stack of cash.

But what surprised me the most
was not the fact that he left me,
but the fact that he stuck around as long as he did.
For I've been getting complaints,
that he was a very noisy neighbor,
with his heavy, steady bass line.
Bohm. Bohm. Bohm. Bohm.
Not even a bass line itself could cover up.
And as for why he left,
why he left me with such a depression,
I don't think I'll ever know for sure,
but what I do know I wished I didn't.

I never understood why he took the things he did,
the ability to love,
the ability to forgive,
and I must say,
I've lost the most important things to me now,
the love for life.

And even after all of that,
even after all that happened,
the best explanation I've got now,
was that God forsaken salt.