He said he'd try just a little bitHe didn't want to end up like themAnd now he blames the voices of a toothless wonderPounding on the door to make the next scoreAnything for a hit, any sin to pay for it
For that next bowl, he'd sell his soulSpiral to destruction, it's too late to break the spell
He wants the ride to stop on the freight train straight to hell
Without the truth he'll never find in a dungeon of his lies
His cause of death... high speed on burnt ice
Always looking at the ground, a broken beaten man
Memories of his family are calling after him
He can hardly think, hardly walk
Phone keeps ringing, he can't talk
With just one hit the pain would go away
But he's dead if he does
Shadow people follow him everywhere he goes
Looking over his shoulder, the paranoia grows
