He walks along the dirty shore,
As the rain begins to pour,
Longing for something more;
Waiting on opportunity to hit his door.

A man of great wealth;
A man of great stealth
Stealth with his true mental health,
Overall a man questioning himself.

Money but no eternal hope
Things but no goal in his scope
Possessions but no guide rope
Wealth but no way to cope

Michael Moore lives a life in vain:
His loneliness has driven him insane,
Sad thoughts consume his brain,
He has a need to break the cycle of pain.

He sludges past strangers on the street,
Hoping someone will see that he's beat.
Anticipating the angel he soon will meet
Fearful to stand at God's feet.

He has wanted this for a while;
He is done faking a smile.
He has seen too much trail,
Finished with humanity so vile.

Michael Moore sits overlooking the lake,
Questioning what’s at stake;
Asking if any heart will break.
Staring back at the life he will take.

Michael Moore walks alone
To a place with a fair little stone.
Praying he folds a note and shuts off his phone.
Notes telling his life, details shown,
and puts a bullet through his head, with a heavy moan 
and an eerie resonating tone.