New pills for new diseases
that mend the surface but leave the inside in pieces
Another addiction, and another illness to cure
This could never heal us, but still we want more

And we all bleed
I thought it began and ended with me
couldn't see the forest for all the trees

Desperate, isolated and full of anxiety
There are so many of us, already on our knees
No one is a threat with a knife to the wrist or a gun to the head
There are those in this world that want us almost, but not quite, dead

And if you cry yourself to sleep,
five or six or seven nights a week
Know that is was meant to be