Johnny's got a grip on a blissful life,
He sucks on the smoke from the dope in his pipe.
Wrapped around his fingers, a noose is loosing slack,
strangling his forearm to fill his veins with smack.
P.C.P. spells gun to the head,
half a syringe or a barrel full of lead.
Grasping at straws and coming up empty, Carving with his life
this somber song of hope:
"Kill me."
Sally spells success M-O-N-E-Y
If she steps on some toes, it's an eye for an eye.
She's climbing up the ladder, she's building up a wall,
to block out the world or the fear that she'll fall.
Tightrope things, conviction never stops.
Money means nothing from a 40 floor drop.
Her security blanket has worn itself thin,
she's hanging in the closet from a rope of her own sin.
Nothing changes, nothing will.
Always skeptic, primed for the kill.
Seeking nothing but selfish gain,
filling your pockets again and again
Selling your soul, taking your fill.
Grasping at straws, feeding your own will.
Killing your conscience, empty, bereft.
Losing your life for the world, you are left alone.
Some throw bricks through windows and yell,
others beat their backs for fear of hell.
Two-edged sword that cuts flesh to the joints,
the path is narrow, you missed the point.
Fistful of sand a pitiful prize.
You're blinding yourself, closing your eyes.
The point was made eons ago,
chaff on the wind, your life's gonna blow.
Nothing you do, nothing can be new.
What is good? What is true?
Seeking to serve not ourselves, never.
The Lord is God, we will live forever.

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