Here's a "Song for Monet". Ha.
I hope that he feels better, soon, but, all of that junk he bought can be no substitute for doing "what turns you on".
Here come dots, the Morse Code. Listen silent! Conversation voices rant on. The eyes, they see dormitory dirty room; slot machines cash lost in 'em. Joyful fourth, fourth of July. A rope ends it, desperation.