If I had a fist for every time I've been trapped, I'd fight my way out and I'd never look back. I'm lying down in the darkest places. I'm losing touch. I can't see faces.

If you fantasize about your funeral, I understand, I've been there before. If there's more importance in the music played than who'd attend, we are the same. With heads to the ground, as I'm lowered down, there will be a chorus: an overwhelming sound.

Don't you know that I am exactly what you wanted? And still am what you want, and what you need. But you seem to have forgotten, the promises you promised, where you do not forget about me.

I will love you even when you won't let me. And you will kill me by doing nothing. But I know it's not you, my dear, I know it's not you. I know it's not you, my dear. It's the nothing that kills.

DEAR MAKERS OF CHERRY MEDICINE,

HAVE YOU EVER TASTED A FCUKING CHERRY?

You'll be the smoke in my mouth, I'll suck you in, I'll push you out. And then you'll disappear and turn into something else. You're just a little moth drawn to my organ burning hot, get too close, your little body is going to multiply

I could never make it work but I sure could make it hurt. Do you want this from me? And as you may recall, I never signed a thing at all. You just started your addiction. I just started my withdrawal.

The absence of consciousness, welcomes the presence of formulated manipulation. I won't feel a thing if you don't.

You jumped from a plane that you thought would explode and you slowly drift your way down. with the dead weight gone, the plane flies on. the madness in flight, the safety of the ground

I'm increasingly aware I've been painting things in gray,
I'm increasingly alarmed by the pain,
I'm increasingly alive to every cloud up in the sky,
I'm increasingly afraid it's going to rain.