Hell Is Other People

Synapses firing blanks on black plastic sheets

70% solution and feeding once a week

Had the chance of thousands but didn't have the fucking guts

Heroines and heroin, stab her in the eyes I've seen enough

Smoke drown in brown with her, I'll see her again soon

Spewing powder, knees wasted, bone grinding on bone

Fully conscious irritant, there's skulls in the mud

What price is freedom when sickness is all we want?

Unavoidable

Trenchant

Valetudinaire

Trepan

Funeral for Mr. Gone

Sucking grey at his wake

I've heard that thousands could die

And she's not slowing down

Fucking obsessed

Meaningless

Days out of sequence

Bad health

Paid in failure

Daggers and honey

Blistering the eyes

Picking at the scabs

Funeral for Mr. Gone

Just blood and matted hair

I've heard that thousands could die

But then, there never was a point