I spend my nights dead face down on my floor, 

but the drugs aren't really working anymore. 

The nights are mostly just despressed 

from staring at my open chest. 

I'm bleeding and I'm heartless but I'm yours. 

And i'm scratching down every blurry scene 

on the mattress where you used to sleep and dream. 

I'd rather chew on broken glass 

then keep on living in the past 

and wasting time on words I know you didn't mean. 



Dear everybody, or whoevers listening. 

I think I'm going to do me in this time 

This is all overrated, waiting on my roof again 

This is the end of my so called life 



I haven't seen the sun in about a week 

and I'm keeping all sharp objects out of reach. 

I finally know the taste of love 

it's a cross between cheap beer and blood 

with an aftertaste of dry sarcastic speech. 



And so I guess it's safe to say 

that we both knew that I'd end up this way 

With a brain that's clueless and unsure

Eyes that hardly ever work 

But I guess that's fine I rarely use them anyway 



(Chorus: x3) 



Dear Everybody, This is the end of my so called life.