I don't like sweet kisses. I'd prefer a scalpel in my spleen
Nights drag on til 8 in the afternoon,
When, it's hard to breathe, to bleed, to move.
Tasting sick in my mouth. Swallowing hard, to keep it down.
Our liver wasn't suppose to handle so many pills
I guess it's punishing me. I've made it so ill!

God wouldn't have me in heaven, so I'd create my own
Oxycontin, Valium, Hydrocodene, Alpraxine.