A expressão pessoal do incrivelmente melancólico menino de classe alta que expressa sua bagagem linguistica num Mac

In the twilight the hours pass so slow.
And I know that in the morning, the solitary feel that drives the chimerical on will be gone,
I'll go back to being just man, that everyone has come to know.
With all these few little problems on my mind, I am in a suffocating, saddening bliss,
laying down in the morning and closing my eyes,
I can, if not for a moment, drop the mistakes I carry for trying to be wise.

It used to be that when I couldn't sleep I'd still go to sleep. Now, I denote about my outspurts;
Prophesize with my pen.
I try and maintain a constant bombardment of thoughts that are hard-flowing sons of bitches,
polluting the eye-sight with a staring eye. I chose vision over visibility.