In and out of these places i go,
23 and nothing to show,
Is it me or was it you,
Maybe its us and the heroin too?
This hand has been dealt,
So i steal and lie,
And It cant be felt,
Why not just die?
In and out of jail i go,
Heroin makes me feel so low,
Its my enemy and friend,
A hand will it extend?
Surely so, back into its depths,
Turning blue taking no breaths,
Thats not enough to turn away,
I guess i need my soul to decay?