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Eight-Ball, Coroner's Pocket

de Hail The Sun

Fictional physician
I get a large euphoria from such a small formula, yeah, yeah
A little paper on the side will be my ticket to ride, yeah, yeah
Heavy feeling, refill my way to the sky
Happy feeling, replacing doubt in my mind
Doctor's orders: Take some more; I'm hearing knocks at the door
Meddling family, go home; I feel much less than before
So what? (because it)
Now what? (is an axe)
Meddling family stay away
Meddling family go, go, go
Doctor, your patients are here
Hey, across the counter
You'll quiet down as I slowly get louder
Cancer, coma, panic, pills; it just doesn't matter
I swallow blackouts
Formula helping us formulate
I still picture all of what happened the day I got locked in my head
(Soma)
(Soma) just get a script
(Someone) needs medicine
(Silenced) up till the end
(Soma) just get a script
(Someone) needs medicine
(Silenced) up till the end
(So long)
And I'm losing my patients
I'm losing my patients
I'm losing my patients
I'm losing my, I'm losing my
Now I've lost all my patience
I've lost all my patience
I've lost all my patience
I'm losing my, I'm losing my

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