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Split

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The mortal coil has distorted
It’s tangled its shape into a noose
Where my head will hang from it

Flashbacks of memories I’d rather were aborted
Surf to the top of my mind
Because I'm not the kind of person to remember the good times
They die and drift away just like my will to survive

You say my threats are empty
Well throw your fingers in the shape of a gun
Shoot it

I’ll see a hole through your forehead
I’ll see a hole in your methods

Zero serotonin levels

Chemical imbalance
Over-indulgence
I need a helping hand
Will you lend it

The mortal coil has distorted
It’s tangled its shape into a noose
Where my head will hang from it

Flashbacks of memories I’d rather were aborted
Surf to the top of my mind
Because I'm not the kind of person to remember the good times
They die and drift away just like my will to survive

Chemical imbalances in your body
Have deprived you of the positive feelings you once had
Your overindulgence has weighed on your mind holding you down

At the bottom of this pit
There is no one to help you
Except your own worst enemy
Yourself

Accept your own worst enemy
Yourself

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