Circles twisted into figure eights
We fuck where we shit
We shit where we eat
We sleep where we die
Too many plugs in the outlet
Fires often consume the circuitry
Burn lifetimes to the ground
We rejoice in the ashes
As we slip a little further into ourselves
Self-medication becomes routine
Self-loathing is all we know
In our search to find a way out
Pathetic attempts to meet expectations
Are superseded by mounting pressure
And overwhelming doubt
A vicious cycle
Designed to weaken our souls
Weed out the weaklings
The faint of heart are destined to fail
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