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My doctor gave me some pills today,
said they should keep those demons at bay
and help me to clear my mind
of the fog that drifts around inside.
"It'll take some time," she says.
Well this time I hope she's right.
Because I'm just getting so damn scared,
I trade my vices like musical chairs.
But soon I know, I won't find a seat
and I'll have to stand on my own two feet.
The music won't repeat,
and I will have to come clean.
I've been trying to quit the drink.
Before that habit kicks me.
But the liquor store is right down the street
and that gallon wine is just so cheap.
I've got my fifteen bucks,
but my body says that price is still too steep.
So I just shake and squirm in my bed
and wipe the cold sweat off my forehead.
I can feel my organs twist inside.
My veins, they fill with pesticides.
But I guess that's alright,
it's just what the doctor prescribed.