For all that paint with broken hearts
Whose madness is their work of art
We drown ourselves in drug abuse
To distract us from our bitter truths
For those who seek efforts in "vein"
A constant numbing of the pain
From secrets that we bury deep
Remains the answer that we seek
Our love is dead, tied to the bed
Murdered in cold blood
A passing look was all it took
And then we understood
That loving you was nothing short
Of clinically insane
Dealer got high on his own supply
And lost at his own game.