Keeping lies weaved like a spider web,
by next year he will most likely be dead;
not keeping anything thoughts in that oh so level head.
He hides the bottles underneath a heavy bed,
when morning comes we all know what happened, his eyes are ruby red.
He keeps lying to himself saying things he should have never said.
Yes, he may be sober now but we all know what happens when night falls.
Inside he is truley dead.
He's keeping intricate lies weaved inside his oh so level head.
Last year to this year, and this morning he was found laying on the bed....
We all knew he was dead.
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x
