He said he'd try just a little bit. He didn't want to end up like them. And now he blames the voices of a toothless wonder. Pounding on the door to make the next score. Anything for a hit any sin to pay for it. For that next bowl he'd sell his soul. Spiral to destruction it's too late to break the spell. He wants the ride to stop on the freight train straight to hell. Without the truth he'll never find in a dungeon of his lies. His cause of death... high speed on burnt ice. Always looking at the ground a broken beaten man. Memories of his family are calling after him. He can hardly thing hardly walk. Phone keeps ringing he can't talk. With just one hit the pain would go away. But he's dead if he does. Shadow people follow him everywhere he goes. Looking over his shoulder the paranoia grows