Darker than the late night,
I see the cleanliness of your despair,
Begging to bring it back,
Hoping to have it saved.
All is lost in time,
Nothing makes it real,
Its a constant struggle with a snake,
That bites every time it strikes.
The chills fill your body up
And there's nothing left to do
Feel it like it tastes good
Accept the poison wine as juice
Taste the sugar of your withdrawal
And digest your own failure.
It's gone, its past, it's you.
And there's nothing left to do.