F                D                A#                  D
I try to be an optimist but my glass is always bone dry so
F                D                A#                  D
I gotta fill it up or get high to get by to just try n
F                D                A#                  D
Tip toe the tight rope this pessimism is a disease
F                D                A#                  D
With depression and apathy sets in a complete lack
F                D                A#                  D
Of all motivation to reach any goal so dig deeper
F                D                A#                  D
The hole we've dug with distractions and give in to a vice
F                D                A#                  D
Once its hard to wake up hard to function hard
F                D                A#                  D
To cope without a 6 pack, a bag o' weed or a bump of coke
F                D                A#                  D
We've lost autonomy and depleted all our dopamine now the world
F                D                A#                  D
Does seem a dreary place devoid of any hope without a vice
F                D                A#                  D
We poison ourselves and don't think twice
F                D                A#                  D
About the consequence when the crutches feel so nice
F                D                A#                  D
When we put band-aids on our bullet wounds, we subtract good add vice
F                D                A#                  D
When you decide to stop ya can't go cold turkey because
F                D                A#                  D
You're left with a brain all out of wack though it can
F                D                A#                  D
Be a quick hazy saunter down to rock bottom it's a long road
F                D                A#                  D
Back there ain't no seatbelts on this wagon with every
F                D                A#                  D
Speedbump we're launched back to square one where we tell
F                D                A#                  D
Ourselves that we'll do better tomorrow
F                D                A#                  D
I'm not sure that I'll be any better tomorrow
F                D                A#                  D
We tell ourselves promise ourselves that we'll do better tomorrow
F                D                A#                  D
I'm not sure that I'll be any stronger tomorrow
F                D                A#                  D
We promise ourselves  to ourselves that well do better tomorrow
F              D         A#            D
I'm not sure that I wanna wake up tomorrow
F                D                A#                  D
We tell ourselves promise ourselves that we'll do better tomorrow
F                D                A#                  D
But sooner those tomorrows cease to come when you live anchored to a vice
F                D                A#                  D
We poison ourselves and don't think twice
F                D                A#                  D
About the consequence when the crutches feel so nice
F                D                A#                  D
When we put band-aids on our bullet wounds, we subtract good add vice