Your mind is like a candle stick, my ambitions are constantly burning out.

 I'd hate to, rain on your parade, 
 But everything you know is taken by this flood, 
 You were blind but there's no hope.
 Dig a hole but there's no blood,
 Who am I to pretend, who am I to [bad word] there is something less. 
 Than timelines and whores that drag you back to the floor, and cut your eyes out.

 I find no humor in letting yourself stray away, from those pictures.
 When they cause you to see shame in yourself, you [bad word] from your problems.
 But they'll follow you like a trend, 
 One shot to forgetting, six shots to falling in the end.

 Behind every mask, lies a man, who can't live in his own skin.
 He lives by the flask, he bathes in his past, and he dies by his own sins.