I've got a bottle of Fireball.
I've got a bottle of Whipped.
I've got a 12 pack.
I've got three ***** calls on speed dial.
I've got a dealer three floors up.
All my vices.
Everything I could need.

But right now it's dark.
It's so incredibly dark.
It's empty and it's lonely.

So if I used that Fireball,
that Whipped,
that 12 pack,
a *******,
or a blunt from the dealer three floors up,

It could all end.
It could get even more dark.
Even more lonely.
If that is even possible.
Once I go there's no coming back.

All I need is a friend.
I thought I had plenty.
It turns out that I was so wrong.
I'm a convenience.
There when they need me,
but any other time I don't exist.
Not really.

I wish I could say they don't know,
how bad it is.
How bad I am.
But they do.
They're choosing to ignore it.
So are they really friends?
What a simple question with such a haunting answer.

It's taking all my strength.
Everything I have in me.
Not to reach for a bottle.
Not to make an easy phone call.
Not to light up that blunt.
It's taking everything I have to stay here.

When all I want to do,
is reach for that bottle.