The spirits are beckoning me
they're always calling.
They ask me to bring my friend Nicotine
and when I meet them I start drowning.
They pour their soul into me
and their 80 proof dichotomy.
I try to let them comfort me,
but disillusion is all that I see.
There's no answer, so I keep on searching.
I have one more and the hopelessness fades away.
My prison is in a full bottle,
but hell is in an empty glass.
Depression has become
sobriety that lasts.
The vice is constantly squeezing.
Just another ounce to relieve the pressure.
The simple sedative seduces the mind.
Reckless the measure.
I lose it all but there's nothing to find.
Tonight I'll find no comfort,
no solace or solutions,
and I'm twisting in my skin--
it's too thin.
My life is like a shot glass--
too quickly is it empty.
And I shatter into shards
on the bar.