A Junkie's Blues

I still have questions with no answers. I’m alive . . . but I’m not living. I don’t have much time left . . . I just know this: I’ve lived a violent life. I might as well be dead. I just want to sleep . . . forever and forget . . . It’s more than physical, love unconditional. Everything else is like a Band-Aid. Everything will be alright. So you cover your bleeding wounds, so the dogs won’t smell you coming. There may be time . . . and . . . everything will work out fine. But what if it never changes? And what if I wasn’t to blame? And what if it never gets any better . . . than this? Everything will be alright. What if I wasn’t to blame? And what if I could change? Yeah, what if I could change? Everything will work out fine. What if you’re only . . . ? What if I’m only insane?