Who's gonna drink till theres nothing left?
Smoke until we turn ourselves to ash?
Fuck like we've run from your hands so long.
That wings might rip right through your back.
Of all my good friends,
too many were acquaintances.
Co-Workers, enemies, secretaries and police.
It takes a mouth about as wide, as the bags under my eyes.
With all the nightmares, im too scared to wake.
Is this what we work for?