The grim reaper is collecting,
Cigarette butts on your doorstep.
I bet you're wishing you could adjust the angle,
That you see your insides from.

I see all the frills,
That you can't live without.
I see all the signs of your demise,
In your little checkbook.

She thinks she's a killer.
Do the stigmas hit you hard,
When you smoke with her, baby?
She's bleeding alcohol when you crush her.

I am even lesser.
I dare you.
Step down to my level,
So that we're both trying ourselves.

How ungrateful of me,
To see another truth,
And hide it out of sight.
Unfaithful to myself.

Always gasping in my sleep,
"You, it's you."
I'm living on the other side,
While your riches die.

But this moment is golden.