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letra de a vice's grip - withered bones

like writing a prescription
for a terminal condition
when someone lacks the motivation to live
and i believe that you can tolerate the pain
in your body and mind
but addiction rears its ugly head, again
what happened to the boy i used to know?
did you decide to let go
of self-control?
and “i hope i die in my sleep, because i think these thoughts are getting to me.”
getting to me
the pharmaceutical industry will profit on your misery
turning it’s back to the dying and suffering
and i’m getting sick
this world is sick
my friends are dying to fill your wallets
where did they go?
what the f-ck
where is the boy i used to know?
is he lost in the pills again?
and where the f-ck are the people who used to call themselves your friends?
i said never again
(where is the boy i used to know?)
would i let this happen to another friend
so where the f-ck are the ones i used to love?
(where are the ones i used to love?)

- withered bones

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