Who's gonna drink till theres nothing left?
Smoke until we turn ourselves to ash?
f** 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?