Foul trimmings are making me cringe.

My lining’s burnt to a speckled singe.

I’ve had too much; I can’t take no more.

Just another blast and I’m gone for sure.

Over and over again

Into my arm I send

The stuff that destroys good men.

It’s a wonder that I aint dead.

I’m on the edge; it’ll be here soon.

I’m near the brink of the coming doom.

Sinking fast…you better cancel hope.

Forget about me and cut the rope.

Over and over again

Into my arm I send.

The stuff that destroys good men.

It’s a wonder that I aint dead.

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