He said he´d try just a little bit

He didn´t want to end up like them

And now he blames the voices of a toothless wonder

Pounding on the door to make the next score

Anything for a hit, any sin to pay for it
For that next bowl, he´d sell his soul

Spiral to destruction, it´s too late to break the spell
He wants the ride to stop on the freight train straight to hell
Without the truth he´ll never find in a dungeon of his lies
His cause of death... high speed on burnt ice

Always looking at the ground, a broken, beaten man
Memories of his family are calling after him
He can hardly think, hardly walk
Phone keeps ringing, he can´t talk
With just one hit the pain would go away
But he´s dead if he does

Shadow people follow him everywhere he goes
Looking over his shoulder, the paranoia grows