It’s hard to say what’s real these days

My mind can be a dangerous place

She’s too naive for suicide

But god I wish that [bad word] would die

Give me, give me, give me, give me a reason

Why every night I’m losing sleep

God [bad word] she’s on to me again

Or maybe I had too much to drink

You see I think I figured out

I figured out as I was thinking

How to stop her piercing voice

From everything that she was stealing

Get the gun, get the gun, get the gun

Is all I’m hearing again and again you know

I used to be such a hopeless man

And she used to be such a sweet, sweet thing

She’s too naive for suicide

But god I wish that [bad word] would die

Shot gun shells, yeah it’s alright

The whiskey says, “Let’s take her [bad word]  life.”

One thing I do remember

Is that things never get better

And I got to make the voices, make the voices for the maker

Of the maker making voices, making voices

Gotta make her, gotta, gotta make her stop

Before my [bad word] caving in again

You can walk this world all alone

But I can still hear her, tearing me apart