I might be dying sooner when I fight these nightly tumors/
I assume it�s likely to in times in spite my dicey psyche/
You know the drill, bite me. Screwdrivers to get me railed/
Until I�m hammered enough to fall asleep on beds of nails/
So take that hacksaw and saw this hack into a thousand pieces/
Put it in your mouth and teeth it, chew it �til it�s ground between �em/
Drain my blood and use it when you write a page/
Describe the taste and tell me if I�m truly worth the ground I sleep in/
It�s the semi-psychotic Henny and vodka mix/
With some Remy Martin and a medley of monster flicks/
I�m on a mission for the ending of all of this/
I�m contradictive, full of empty intoxicants/
I�m a desperate, desolate mess of skeletons/
Who second guesses questions, intentions when all the messages/
Mix and sections of skin are left dissecting your ribs, infected/
With pestilent hexes that exorcists fix, so check it/
I got two bad hands and still built this house of cards/
Just an average Jack up in the Club who thinks he found a Heart/
But I don�t go to clubs and don�t believe in love/
Or holding hearts in grips unless this fist is into which it�s bleeding from/
It�s bleeding from, it�s bleeding from, it�s bleeding from/
I look into the bleeding sun and whisper with my bleeding tongue/
All my poems are telling that the bleeding�s fun/
Until this carcass reaches heartless, telling me the bleeding�s done/

After birth, there�s just afterbirth/
And after that�s the aftermath and consequences/
�Cause after life there�s nothing that�s after death/
And after death there�s no afterlife/
And you�ll agree that eulogies and afterwords/
Are�words, after birth from aftershocks/
And afternoons of afterthoughts/
So after you, I�ll follow you to Acheron/
And after all, while you can�t just save yourself/

From this place in Hell I�ll say farewell until the sun decays/
With eyes open hoping nowhere nosy poachers dug our graves/
The silence is talking, walk-in, we�ve all been in coffins/
Hostage to cautious responses, solemn and lost in the nonsense/
Often I follow my conscience, bottle and swallow my problems/
Wallow in hollow with processes, toxic hostile menages/
It�s just another itchy finger that I know expects to pull it/
And I�m in the line of fire every time you�re sweating bullets/
Because�(these nights) it�s getting harder now to go to (sleep tight)/
When everything is haunting me�
Until I take my heart and squeeze it �til the bleeding stops/
(Speak to God), but I�d rather go and (reach the stars)/
So I could pluck one out the sky to navigate inside this shallow grave/

If I can�t find my way back home/
Know that I�m safe in these catacombs/
I stand alone in the window with the casket closed/
And latch to hold the stack of bones/
Yeah this ship is on the path I roam, but that�s just home/

Lyrics submitted by thousandscars

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