This pit, it isn’t bottomless, but it’s a long way down.
Someone’s always falling, someone’s always crawling out.
And even if we ever made it to the top, the light’s too bright, we’ll just dive down again.
I’ve been drowning in my vices and I’m never gonna learn.
The poetry lied and I can’t decide which road I’ve got to burn,
but I know one of them is going straight to hell.
How can I help you when I can’t help myself?
Am I wrong? Am I right? Am I fighting for a future? Am I fighting for my right to feel?
You’ve been sinking into quicksand and you can’t make any sense.
The things we obsess over aren’t as simple as things we obsessed over when suburban streets were ridden all the way to hell.
How can you help me when you can’t help yourself?
Madison: a tiny refuge.
Tired, huddled masses, overworked and feeling restless.
I might just leave it all ‘cause I’ve been feeling reckless and if I lose it all it’s alright.