Downers to control the pain
Anxiety dies, nothing else remains
Contrary to your belief
This s___ is worse then all my anxiety
But I can't stop this, I try to resist
My behaviors making you p___ed
There's nothing else to do
So I run to you
And become the man you always wanted me to.

I drop so low that I die

Six months in this white room
You might as well label it my tomb
Cause I can't hear the birds sing
Just the echoes of a grown man's scream
Then I feel the pressure on me
The kind that overwhelms you makes your ears bleed
So I pop the pills that kill the chills
And serenade you with my screams

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