These downers have me laying in bed watching light flares float across my room like the ghosts of my past float across my eyelids. And I’m convinced these drugs aren’t going to get you out of my head anymore.
The rooms too hot and I’m too cold and I’m crawling towards the kitchen begging for someone to get me some ****** water but then I remember.... it’s just me as usual.
I get up and take control of the situation and find some uppers in the hall and ask myself if maybe we can work through this or maybe I’m just high enough to think you’re still around.
I’m drowning in a bathtub full of rose petals I found under the sink and I’m staring at the water drip down the shower walls as I watch my inevitable breakdown drip down my eyelids.
I guess I’m convinced these drugs just made things worse and I’m convinced I gotta get my **** together... I gotta get myself together.
Your hand twitches to satisfy the itches, you think that I don't understand. So many are drowning yet still you are downing. Maybe I don’t understand. Death will sit and wait right outside your door and still you resort to temporary fixes.
Fed up with all the downers, I’m sick of all the downers.