I feel it, heart attack, filled their condos with their instruments
History won’t suffice, ‘cause I’d rather go with them than die
Talking to (an)gels and selling (con)dos, we should keep each other on our toes
You blanked and forgot to breathe, was it weird that you were still with me
It’s gonna be a big one, heart attack, you’ve been gearing up all your life
Practicing every night, with neglect and smoking Black and Milds
I found you in the backseat of that mother fucker’s lifted truck
I met you in the middle of “I don’t want to but I’ve had enough”
It was there that you’d given up, and it was clear what you really loved
You said, “I’m gonna die, die, die from trauma, mama, I, me, mine.”
Clean again, clean again.
Free again, free again.
We’ll Be okay, be okay.