Sometimes I feel like I am dead to this world. No place or purpose, pushed under the stairs collecting dust and mold. Just another rat living inside your walls. Another lost cause.
Walking in circles, been killing time, searching for a reason why "enough is never enough" so I turn my back just to find myself at another dead end. Another dead end, but I'm getting used to it. Another dead end, my new best friend. "No wife, no picket fences," I've made a living off digging my own grave. Carving these words into my headstone, "this is all I have, this is everything." Truth be told, I'm scared to death to bet my life on this because I've been in debt since the day I was born and every hand I'm dealt is just another regret. I'm all in. I've got nothing left, nothing left but empty pockets and my head in my hands. Convinced I'm nothing but a burnt out wick, but the constant urge to keep moving on keeps my blood warm and my heart beating like a fucking war drum. Can you hear those sticks beating against my ribs? Truth be told, my will keeps slipping away every chance it gets. Just when I think I have a grasp on it, the carpal tunnel opens up my fist. "Is this what you want? Then this is what you'll get for holding on. Is it worth the pain in the end?" I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. (the whisper part of the lyrics will be left out) "No wife, no picket fences." I've made a living off digging my own grave. Carving these words into my headstone. "This is all I have, this is everything."
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