Friday night's alright for fightingSaturday, Sunday, Monday tooEvery night is a night of fightingWith family and friends like you

There is a voice in my head that is only silenced by the scratching of my pen

I'm sick of the images trapped in my headI'm sick of being preoccupied with the dead

Starving artist: starving for affection, starving for attention

We dreamt of a crappy apartment somewhereMaking love while we let the midnight airFlow through the open window, into our closed heartsLeft bitter from heartbreak and too much time apart

Will I ever see the mountains or am I doomed to roam the flatlands?

Traveling down a road of self-destructionWith no room for any reconstruction

I remember all the things we said we'd doAnd how not a single thing we said was true