I'd rest on my laurels
  let some keen wit
  and crying awful pity sustain me
  But my memories leak like a sieve
  And fuel this fire
  It's deep and heavy roar defies me
    Let's not talk in vain about the weather
  Let's take my tired soul off of it's tether
    Poor me
  Poor me
    I can't reach the ends of this
  But if I didn't
  It would be the end of me
  I need to feen infatuation
  Stoke the coals
  of curiosity and longing
    Let's not talk in vain about the weather
  Let's take my tired soul of it's tether
    I need the glory
  with lights aglow around me
  My halo shining brightly
  in tribute to myself
  No, I can't have pity on me
  So tell me another story
  And I'll accept gladly
  and thank you for the help
    Poor me, Poor me