Caught in the rush.
Lost in the clutch.
Trapped in the crush.
Stopped with a touch.
Give me your trust.
Never enough.
Give up the lust.
Back to the dust.
Better to be broken down and hollow
than full of shit.
Son of a bitch,
I’ve seen how far down you can wallow.
Pick yourself up,
you’re better than this.
Sick little bitch,
scratching that itch,
flipping your switch,
now make a wish.
Trade in your gift
for a little of this.
It’s about to get so hot.
It’s about to get so high.
Ask and you receive;
come swim on the deep side.
There’s sharks in the shallows;
their mouths fifty feet wide.
They’ll swallow you whole;
your soul lost in the meantime.
What can I do
to get you to see
that you’re draped in suicide?
Everything you’ve won,
everything you’ve done
has trapped you in your own mind.
The luxury slowly wraps itself around you,
like hands at your throat.
Ambition’s a gun
rested on your tongue
and avarice is a hair trigger.
Nothing kills quite like success.
Nothing breeds sickness like power.
Everything feeds the hunger.
Nothing fills the desire.
Comfort is a slow, slow death,
for the meek and mild ones,
for the sane and crazy ones,
there’s enough for everyone.
The belly full,
the mind shuts down.
The soul escapes and blood is found
on the wall and on the floor;
guess we don’t need it anymore.
Comfort is a killing blow.
disconnect your from your soul.
Ask them and they’ll tell you so.
Hollow eyes and no control.
Want it.
Need it.
Hate it.
Grieve it.
Crave it.
Made it
to the top;
now will you have the balls to jump,
before the devil gets you?
HG – 2017
