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Drafting...
Since nobody suspects I'd be probably dead
I'm off me fucking head for hours on end
Tryna make sense for every dollar I've spent
On bottles that'll leave me a vomiting mess
I seek a better remedy to heal
All the wounds to my memories
I'm walking proof that it's little use
To repair me, I've lit the fuse
With all those that say,
“We miss the old you,”
With no R.I.P. on their chest,
But it's old news, like I told you
© William Robert Death
I'm off me fucking head for hours on end
Tryna make sense for every dollar I've spent
On bottles that'll leave me a vomiting mess
I seek a better remedy to heal
All the wounds to my memories
I'm walking proof that it's little use
To repair me, I've lit the fuse
With all those that say,
“We miss the old you,”
With no R.I.P. on their chest,
But it's old news, like I told you
© William Robert Death
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