Swallowing a feeling
Counting cracks across the ceiling
Never reached the depths of them before
I’m finding flaws in every format
I know but haven’t shown that I could pick myself up off the floor
I’ll fill my glass to take the edge off
The choice is mine
From the outside I seem fine
On the inside I’m still sick
The pill is a temporary fix
Redefine rock bottom with these empty orange bottles
Never felt so paralyzed before
We’re all looking for some answers with the hangman’s broken lantern
Growing ever closer to the floor
Why do I feel so damn cold?
Why am I still so low?
Why should I get up or get out?
Why should I?
Why?
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