Bright lights

Too many sounds

Whose clothes on my floor now

What's that taste

Up in my mouth

Stand up, you got played

Take a bow

Bow down

Oh god, I'm doing slow death again

Allergic to zen, girl stand by with that Epi-Pen

If someone's in my bed that means I'm not thinking

And if I'm drinking with my demons

I'm not facing them

That fast life, I blow smoke

It's either high risk or comatose

There's no in-between, it's just sleep or go

Put in no work so it never shows

Has he been seen

Coma ghost

What's the one thing you'll never know

What it feels like to know

And then to be known

Bright lights

Too many sounds

Whose clothes on my floor now

What's that taste

Up in my mouth

Stand up, you got played

Take a bow

Bow down

Oneverse: work ethic ether

Twoverse refer to reefer

I've been scrubbin' away at the stains

But I can't seem to get 'em much cleaner

How you gonna come to terms

Everything makes you burn

Every time the lizard brain hurts

Spark it up and say you'll make change later

Never stop

This is weed, this is shrooms, this a blonde

Not a single one can purify your thoughts

Get lost, when I say I love you I believe it

What I mean is you are convenient

I don't know any other way, bad guy

I wish I was less Eilish

But every role model's goodbye to me surprise or Irish

Bright lights

Too many sounds

Whose clothes on my floor now

What's that taste

Up in my mouth

Stand up, you got played

Take a bow

Bow down

So it's settled then, Imma settle in

Gave it my best at being one of the better men

But Sisyphus is givin' in

Given the biochemical bent: Charlie Sheen on acetylene

No remorse, only amphetamines

Mr. Clean on the LinkedIn scene

Pig mask degenerate weekending

No place to go, so it's water treading

All I've ever wanted was to fight about the dumb shit

Why'd you buy the bigger barbecue, we can't afford it

Didn't want the Dr. Pepper, why the fuck you pour it

Not that I don't pray for love

Good Lord, it's just that fucked in the head

Wanna deliver the missus breakfast in bed

Syrup on your pancakes there, missus Butterworth

Trust, and faith, and grace, wanna raise up her worth

So sick of sex, rather put in love work

They say: gotta get better first

But I got this trauma curse

Stitches please, nurse

Close it up, actually: one more verse

No moral

Don't know what the lesson is

I present as a detriment

My hell: consequence of someone else's mess

The ability to love beaten out of my head

It's Eeyore to he whore

Ran out of coping mechanisms before

I can't bleed more, every day

More cracks in these floor

He just seem more dead

Fighting wars in my own head

If it'll never get better than

Fighting wars in my own bed

If it'll never get better, then