In the shadowy corners of the city streets,
Where the darkness lurks and danger meets,
There's a figure that moves with a shaky gait,
Eyes wide and wild, filled with a desperate state.

Tweaker tweaker, looking like Smeagol,
With that precious rock you smoke,
Lost in a world of your own making,
Chasing a high that's always in the forsaking.

Your skin is pale, your hands are shaking,
You move with a furtive glance, always partaking,
In the deadly dance of addiction's hold,
A slave to the substance that leaves you cold.

What demons haunt your troubled mind?
What pain and anguish have you left behind?
In search of relief from the cruel reality,
You've fallen into a pit of depravity.

Tweaker tweaker, lost in the haze,
Of a drug-fueled stupor, in a never-ending craze,
Your life spiraling out of control,
As you chase the dragon that's taken its toll.

Your eyes are hollow,...