My payroll, pulse and the puncture

Oh! it's a sad tune as usual
When I touch these colored notes
The burning sensation what a pity?
My poor lungs try to fill happy air,
But always a puncture along this tiresome journey from a cruel thorn?
I am not a stripling to bear this stretch
And this tattered piece would break if you pull fast.

* The annoyed alarm clock wakes me up to fight with the life.