lifes a stange place when you come from being dead was really behind when i thought that i was ahead thought i had the right tools to move instead drugs in ma vanes takin over clouden ma head to take a step to better judgement long sprees of being lonely getting drug in a hole of being homeless and full of despair looking back there's nothing there straight sulfur not even air only room for the wicked and wiches and blacks the color that they pickin its all pickin at the picnic for souls to get took thru magic spells from hell dont you know..