Doctor please, I need a new hope. The more I run, the more the track becomes a living hell paved with regrets. I've been looking for some help. The smiles in the streets they scare. The hands on my back are fucking weight. The picks in my head, they help, I believe. Shake, Shake, Shake, Shake, The wine, The whiskey, they became discrete pills. The ice pick, a remedy. I'll never find a way to wake up and here comes the mourning. I give up, the steel is already in. Understand, you're the last chance I take to die. And I don't want to die. Who cares about real questions giving you the doubt you need? I'm tired of thinking of what I could get to drop out. I'm alone now, in the same old trap. Longing for a sand box smile to some back. I feel left behind. On and on the same glass and the bottle is down.