Just like a drug, an addiction, a need
I become weaker and weaker with every feed
this hunger is obsessive, it won’t go away
it becomes stronger and bigger day by day
I can taste it’s string at the tip of my tongue
to this torture my body has strongly clung
there’s no way out, it’s quickly taking over me
changing me into something I never wanted to be
I need to hear it’s coming, I need to taste it’s sting
I have to know that it’s there, it’s fatal ring
to feel it’s touch; I’ve become a fanatic; what do I do?
How can you come out of an addiction when it’s you?

Knives cause messes and pain
razors are of no more gain
pills and drugs just feel wrong
water and rivers just take too long
tourniquets don’t look right
choking seems to take all night
ODing doesn’t take your life
causes depression; then a knife
poison makes your body numb
assassination makes you tiresome
ropes are hard; nooses always give
they never work; so you might as well live

Silence drifting in the air with a cold breeze wafting by
a looming feeling of fear that breaks you down to cry
you can sense the failure in the air, the pressure, the tears
a midnight crisis opening up and letting out all your fears
the little flame inside your heart burns then slowly dies
you break the silence with your quiet but lengthy sighs
you can smell iron in the air but there’s no light for you see
just total darkness, the engulfing anguish, no more time to flee
footsteps coming in closer, can you feel your fears start to rise?
Your rope starts to come undone, no time to close it with simple ties
like ghosts with your string of life, with scissors ready to crop
with death following you at your heels with every blood drop

you don’t have anymore friends for they are face down at the lake
say goodbye to your life, your breath; think of all the pills you take
take a shot with your lens; take the picture to remember the past
try to run away from this irritating death sentence that will forever last
with all the problems in the air with the handle locked on the door
how’s it feel to be the only one bleeding profusely upon the floor?
The shotgun is inside the desk; the pills are sitting upon the shelf
the razors are all rusty with what you had done before to yourself
all alone and scared; there’s no one that will ever help you now
I know you want to help yourself; poor dear you don’t know how
regretting those scars upon your wrist; regretting the pills in your throat
forget all your broken hearts; forget all those suicide letters you wrote
nothing matters now that your body has gone cold and you can no longer see
as the ghosts cut your string and your body slowly dies and now your finally free