| Late one night
|
| I can balance the elements
|
| They boil and smoke in the glass
|
| I was dead
|
| But the struggle to control through our hair
|
| I drink the potion from the flask
|
| Admire myself in the mirror
|
| I felt a god in my own skin
|
| something
|
| Free me from the reality of men
|
| I awoke in the morning
|
| With a smoke-free conscience
|
| My creation waits upon the shelf
|
| Don’t forgive the struggle
|
| My every act, and every thought
|
| Consumed by this drink
|
| I would punch through the window
|
| Impaled-looking grin
|
| I can barely wait the night
|
| I become a stranger in my own skin
|
| An angel on my shoulder
|
| And a demon on the other
|
| Whisper in my own ear
|
| I would hear about what I want to hear
|
| I am my doctor and my patient
|
| And now my remedy became my enemy
|
| With the same great
|
| high and the same things right back to me
|
| This old medicine has let the demons in
|
| But there ain’t no bottle in all the world
|
| Like that dear little bottle of mine
|
| Back at
|
| What have I become?
|
| has been
|
| in a coloured bottle
|
| I saw a monster in my own skin
|
| I was acting stupid
|
| Something that was consuming me
|
| I wish I would’ve
|
| When this all began
|
| I threw it all away
|
| I destroyed, didn’t create
|
| It was the journal of a mad scientist and
|
| Here again, I to lay down the pen
|
| And proceeded to my confession
|
| I’m free
|
| The life of an unhappy man
|
| To an end |