Woke up this morning found you blue faced overdosing and dying and disgraced. I'm pounding on your chest and wondering why am I trying to save your life when you're trying to die? I want to cry. I want to run. I want to scream. I want to wake up again and find it's all a dream. But I can't because it's not. This is too real. For the rest of my life, I've got to live with the vision of you dying in my arms. Dying in my arms. Outside my window the city chokes on its own sin. Where did my good times go? Will I ever see them again? No salvation to be found around here.