A stern faced man sat on a hill. And with addiction in hand. He sought to kill. He fell on the masses. Unyielding from above. And tore away from me the ones I love. How can I not be angry at what you've taken from me. I see their heads bent low with this affliction. How can I believe. Substance makes the man. And substance made me too. But I fail to understand why it has such a hold on you. When I look on your eyes so strong is the hate. For the sickness that brought you in, and the reason we can't relate.