When you’re little, everyone thinks you’re special...
When you’re twenty, everyone thinks you’re promising...
And when you’re dead, everyone will love you.

Do you see yourself as successful?
Beautiful?
Charming, even?

Well, I see you dead in a bathtub...
Surrounded by drug paraphernalia.
I see your mother crying for you...
Syringe in her arm to take away pain.

Do you see yourself as a failure?
Disgusting?
Horrid, even?

Why, don’t think of yourself that way...
You’ll be alright.
There is no storm...
Just calm, just the eye...

When you’re little, they beat you.
When you’re twenty, you’re hopeless.
And when you’re dead, you’re saved.

Is the drive boring?
Tiring?
Numbing, even?

It’s okay, just fall asleep...
You’re not responsible anyway.
It’s fine, go to sleep...
You’ll be unresponsive, anyway.

When you’re low, it’s blue.
When you’re high, it’s full.
When you’re dead, you’ll finally be numb.