You, without a clue
At the wrongs that you do
To what you put yourself through

Out on the streets
Of insanity
Is getting so old with nothing new

In your choice of drug
Being whatever shows up
You've never been the picky kind

Whatever uppers they have
Or downers you get
Just as long as you get high

Satan holds out his hand
As you pay him parched rent
One day the balance will come due

And you unconcerned
When it comes to your turn
That it will be the death of you

So you continue to beg
For whatever you can
Dragging calloused feet on the streets

As we all wonder about you
You without a clue
At the depth of your insanity