I can’t smoke myself out of this hole
If I take one more hit I’ll have to go home
My flat-tired eyes can be replaced
So what’s wrong with one more shot to my pathetic face?

I live my life on the edge of a dull knife
I don’t feel too sharp, I’m still seeing stars
I’m too bored to tears to cry

Blood’s clotting and my gut’s unwound
Cause my body is a battleground
My head is rotting in the lost and found
Cause my body is a battleground

There’s dead soldiers on my couch again
A little friendly fire with my friends
I know my horror story’s not unique
Cause there’s a different colored pill for each day of the week

I met my maker in the mirror today
I said her name three times and then I asked,
“How the hell’d I end up this way?”