Now floating on these lies, awash in tempest sin,
The foul scent of smoke enshrouds your pallid, fragile skin.
As for the raw-flesh stench of poison-sweet cocaine,
It seeps in through your nostrils, decay starting in the brain.
Now every vice disguised in woven rags of hate,
Do under morals wait, unnoticed in the storm,

Eager to bring your doom.

Now see you've pushed aside all those once held so dear.
New thoughts bring newer pain, like lightning from the mirror.
Its thunder casts you down. Prostrate you cannot see.
But feel the mud of ash and blood, surely you must break free.
So struggle as you may against this veil of white.
All on your own, in secret. No one knowing of your plight.
Still these chains with hopelessness ensnare,
And e'en today, from sad return, your soul, can't be fully clear.

Uncertainty becomes you.

You've come so far away from whence you came.
A future of possibility left behind for what?
And now in looking back, there's nothing left to see.
Darkness obscures the path lying too far from your feet.
The screaming of regret, sound that never ends,
It will ring on, 'til alcohol, its silence does beget.
And in your dying years, this waste you shall recall,
And 'neath its weight such elder bones shall have much cause to break.

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