Gripping onto my life
Like razor blades across finger tips
Which bleed onto blank paper
The pain whips hard, frenzied

So, once gain, the bottle beckons
Swallowing the rawness of whiskey
Harshly burning my throat
Looking for drunkard, obscure haze

Cursing the scars on this bitter face
A wasted and worthless life
Surrounded by unwanted wealth
What is money but another curse?

The darkening rage suddenly takes me
An anger like some twisted hurricane
My name, blistered on these lips
I am, forever ******, Byron Lorde