My dialogue is damaged, product of an addict
Despite the abuse, it’s no Flowers in the Attic
I’m the funnier Belushi, speedball the panic
To provide an excuse to appear this manic
Was I Darby Crash trying to silence the static?
Or Dexter Morgan trying to subdue the habit?
Samuel Beckett with a flair for the dramatic?
The past did it’s job and fully wreaked havoc
Somewhere the spark became an atomic blast
That leveled the mountain and created a path
Somewhere the fire engulfed every part of my act
Until only what is real remained intact
What you see right now is only a second draft
Of a script of a film with a revolving cast
While you were busy writing on what I lack
I was building up momentum to ensue my attack

My psyche is ravaged, well-versed in madness
Weathered and savage, we’re all fluent in sadness
I’m picking apart the pieces of this grandness
And adding different hues of blue to the canvas
Some lighter than others bordering on blackness
Some well-crafted, others need practice
Oceans in depth or superficial and callous
But part of progression is perfecting the balance
“Love + Other Drugs” sucked, on some level I knew that
Everything inside me just wanted to spew black
But if it helped you get up and try to bounce back
Then I guess the success outweighs the drawbacks
Finnegan’s Wake, I’m cyclical in my setbacks
I’m Fox News, takin’ liberties with these facts
Valentine Smith, a stranger in a strange land
Spreading testimony like this track’s a witness stand
“You’re more slept on than a mattress” she said
I know, that’s why girls like you keep taking me to bed
Honest to a fault about the monsters in my head
I’ll keep you around if you silence them for a second
Dead Poets Society, every day’s a life lesson
Groundhog Day ‘til I’ve perfected my methods
John McClane ‘til I die hard with a vengeance
But there’s no end in sight for the young and the restless
I’m an ace of spades, call me a lucky draw
Saw what broke the camel’s back, it wasn’t a straw
A pig in a blanket, like I’ve slept with the law
I’m a cheap buzz, like a glass of Stella Artois
Running the same lines awaiting different replies
A typecast actor forced to improvise
When the voices in my head start to harmonize
I think what if god was really just the devil in disguise?