Try it with Life, high on morphine and twice as depressed. Hospital beds can't get rid of that sterile itch inside your head.
That's why you need the drugs.
A cocked addiction, ready to blow down the barrel of your throat, you never knew it stung so much when you inhaled.
Throw your dreams away, like a puff of Smoke.
Gone.
That burning on your tongue sensing you'd been lyin' too much, fucking up your body because you thought a forest of Green wrapped in white paper and silver linings could make that pain disappear at last.
But it's all still there.
And you're still drugged up.
How's it feel? Staring through a red eyed mistake. That boiling blood you let loose in your veins, all your needle needed to say was, "I'm your Doctor".
A prescription for a leather cord and a spoon, you're tied at either end, tethered tight to chill music and an eternity of reinforced isolation.
Don't trust the Lab Coat.
You can go through the Motions, each phase is a new toll..
On that Soul of yours.
If happiness had a first name it'd be
ECSTASY.
LSD, there are so many labels,
To you it's reality. The truth of a lie,
You hate yourself.
So you hope to die.
Overdose doesn't have to be pills and poppers, bottles and heart stoppers.
They can be Demons, too.
Who say they're not just a psych ward's worth of medication and bad dreams.
Try it with Life.
High on Morphine.
