In the time of the mind noises.

Busted up and broken smiles line the wall.
"Make your peace down the hall." Says the guard.
In the hospital riddled with numbers and synthetic faith.
Its this old color gray, it gets me this way every time.

Tossed and sorted packets of sacrificed life.
All with special locks and secret combinations.
Only the pure, will ever become.
All those infected, infected, infected our young.

To be down and out, kissing the concrete.
Wishing I had not washed up on the street.
My fast mouth it only finds me, situations.

Warning label orange on the left, spelling death.
"We are not clean here my dear." Says the sticker.
I feel the needle its no thicker than my resolve.
But faint I feel, its a waste to attempt to replace.

No blood, or man made drug can give me the will to live.
I've given a poison. I've given a poison.
No hope, nothing at will be accepting to my will.
You've taken the wrong patient to repair the complaint.

Of life not living up to expectations.
Now the shadow births revelations.
Quiet and shielding the cuts.
Because you've done something good.
The blessing will be the filler until vexed.
Cut out from the attitude of holy.

Machines teethe and receive signals of you.
Look at myself standing there, six feet under already.
Underneath the houses hand of seduction.
Of what is right inside my mind, behind my eyes.

Such a filthy, simply disgusting specimen as me.
Lady luck hears me though, she heals me. Perfectly fine.
Without the sickening drug regimen of a dirty of man.
Its this old color gray, it gets me this way every time.

To be down and out, kissing the concrete.
Wishing I had not washed up on the street.
My fast mouth it only finds me, situations.