I see the flickering lights at the end of my street
In this rotting old town that always smelled of defeat
I'd find my peace in the bottle I have claimed for my own
Drink myself to the grave rather than wake up alone
I keep a switchblade hidden at the tip of my tounge
I whisper desperate lies into the ears of the young
Drowning in rum and despair and now their faces are gone
I guess that just being me is worse than being no one
Crawling helpless, blinded in graveyard mud
Bruised knuckles say a prayer to a non-caring god
Recalling nothing but wordless shouts and blood
I take a knife to my flesh as hard as I could
Their words, their words, their crooked words
They tear right into my head like the claws of a vulture
And they rip out the eyes of all the people in my dreams
I sober up and I am nothing but the hate and the screams
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