When the Sunday sun sets
and you get rid of the alcohol breath,
you look for comfort in our bed,
but find a gnawing disturbance instead.

You discover heat in a frigid room.
Don't you realize it's coming from you?
Your chest is consumed with pain,
you perspective starts to change.
The smell of your pillow is not the same.

The air is thick and your breathing's thicker,
you can feel it getting colder as you're getting sicker.
Your mind is a mess and so is the sky,
the drugs don't work and you don't know why.
Guess there's no more consolation in getting high.
Your sight goes weak and your mouth goes dry,
you have no more reasons or alibis.

And when you know you've once felt bliss,
and know that you couldn't predict the twist,
and in the taste of your last hit,
you feel the content you desperately missed.