Exist to be the victim, focus on the fall. Your self-inflicted spotlight at the center of it all. Push away the out stretched hands, dig another hole. Sink deeper into the grave you've blinkered oh so well. Dwell in isolation, damaged to no end, loaded dice, another vice, another broken friend. Last chance, last card, another postcard from the edge, another dream to sell. The shadow of your former self grows weaker by the day. You choose your own destiny, fuck that kind of life. Your grip on your own life gets weaker by the day, a victim of your destiny, fuck that kind of life.
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