Confessions of a worn out *****,
I swear that he's been here before-
His chunky chorbes and drunken breath,
his after shave that smells like death.
He pitches up after three,
to satisfy his lonely ******.
The leftover ******* of the night,
We share this sickness out of sight.

Confessions of a tired *****,
how I long for an open door.
But there are drugs to pay and bills to eat,
a haze to keep and my face to beat.
My sunken cheeks are racked with lines,
I cover with the shadows that blind,
In the dark I'm beautiful,
when I go down I'm powerful.

Confessions of a former saint,
and the man who's words could make her faint.
Who offered me a brand new world,
and filled my love with heroine.

Confessions of a dreamless sleep,
of days that tick like a foggy mist,
of purpose lost and hope that's fleeting,
of lies and lust and pain that's eating.