It was that kind of sadness that made you sick
A disease of disaster developing within
But this was the kind where your stomach feels barren
Choking on everything but the air breathed in

A dry-heaving war between the lungs and the heart
A force of a thousand men tearing you apart
The pressure, within, goes all to your head
Where reason is madness, like the evil man said

But there was no reason, no reason at all
And they ask and you say, "Well, nothing I recall."
There is nothing worse than nothing, nothing at all
For the cure sits beside you but your reach is too small