Piteous moans inside my head,
considerably afraid I'll wake up dead...
and dreaming.
Critics all around me, screaming my name.
I know I'm the only one to blame.
For this fucking mess I've so neatly arranged...
Freeing muck from my vision,
and crawling obscenities from my lungs.
One of these days I'll breathe again.
Today?
Tomorrow.
The day after...next.
Circle, circle, circle round,
I'm not the only one still falling down.
Remind me why I still face back,
when my future sorely lacks
any sort of balance or sunlight.
I am frightened, but you can't tell.
And the stairway to hell
looks more and more inviting.
I can't be saved.
But it's okay.
I'll find my own way.
