another washed up star before i got my name in cement

We sit around all night long
complaining in limricks and songs.
In the early morning
I call up my ex friends
and apologize for the things
I did not really have understanding
to the consequences of those actions.
Drunk on mistakes, intoxicating
drugs that keep me numb to feelings.
Ya, I wish, I tell my friends,
that she had been there, been
one of my kind; because it'd end
differently, maybe a wedding
bell chorus would sing
us to sleep this fall season.
Now I got blue prints
to maybe make my life have action
some sort of positive direction.
Drained of all possiblie conclusions
but I got an idea, a decision
to end my life without depression.