Ray wakes up and lays around for a while. No rise, no shine, well that's just not his style and when he wants to have a smoke he looks at the overfilled ashtray and then he spices up his coffee like he does each and every day and then he looks at those cats and dogs he never liked and all the mess from a little party he had last night and he says: Ray, you got to get better, cause something about this isn't right.
And Liz sits down her hips are hurting from to many stones on her back and while shes redoing her favourite puzzle, she notice the kitchen tile got a new crack and not for the first time she wonders how she could end up like this, but than she looks at Ray and knows she could never leave him like he is and even on those days when she hits him in disgrace she's still the one to help him to clean up his face, but she says: Ray you got to get better, cause nothing about this is alright.
And it's not he's not willing, but for each day he tries, there are two where he's not. So he keeps on drowning until the end of his days, and then sure enough, everyone rembers that Ray's a laugh.
And sometimes I wonder about the boy behind the lense and how it must have been to grow up in this anti-shakespearian romance and how those blurred pictures represent his tears and all of his troubles and all of his fears and I imagine how he lays awake at night, hoping for his dad not to stop to fight and he says: Dad you got to get better, cause otherwise it's never gonna be alright.
And it's not he's not willing, but for each day he tries, there are two where he's not and it's not he's not laughing, but the sadness begins when the laughter stops. So he keeps on trying, but he doesn't care if he's alive or he's not. So he keeps on drowning and nowadays most of you, sure enough, know someone with a story like Ray's a laugh's.