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As My Blood Turns To Alcohol
I need to be drunk,
I need to feel pain,
but from it, what do I gain?
Nothing, I'm just slowly being slain.
And by my own hand,
my own fucking demand.
Just look at me, how I spend my day.
The second I hear the alarm clock,
I'm reaching for that bottle of bock.
Then throughout the day I grow more pale,
bottle after bottle, ale after ale.
Then every time the thought to stop comes about,
I drown my doubt in a bottle of stout.
And to think it all started as a test,
Now I cant live without the taste, the sweetness,
Is there such a thing as alcohol proof happiness?
In my mind I'm screaming,
Somebody stop me!
I need help!
Don't leave me for dead!
I don't even sleep at night, I just lie in bed,
because there's nothing louder in my head than these words I never said.
Now I have a prediction,
about the future of my addiction.
I'd like to say I'll recover some day,
But I've never been one for words of fiction.
Odds are I'll continue to cave,
Until I meet an early grave.
Is there any other way to live with this insatiable crave?
-The Fever
