I think I'll give the beak a miss
My body produces too much piss.
My face feels tight, my septum's gone,
Nasal passages joined as one.
Broken biscuits, Toffee, shite!
Rambling on all fuckin night.
Picking fights analysing themes
tattered, frayed and fragile seams

Its time to put the coke to bed
the snitching powder wrecks my head.
Creating things that just aren't there
and causing guilt that's sure to stir.
A feeling that my life will end,
or will I just go round the bend.
My white and sparkling new best friend
a cheap and nasty schoolyard trend.

Marching powder, lemon, snout.
Forget the name and feel the doubt
coursing through your cortex clear,
Panic, dehydration, fear!
Bank accounts reduced to nil
relationships will crumble still
If all you hold dear matters most
Leave it behind this chemical ghost.