Crackpipe

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I try to be an optimist but my 
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glass is always bone dry so
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I gotta fill it up or get high to 
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get by to just try n
F                D       
Tip toe the tight rope this 
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pessimism is a disease
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With depression and apathy sets in
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 a complete lack
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Of all motivation to reach any 
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goal so dig deeper
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The hole we've dug with 
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distractions and give in to a vice
F                D            
Once its hard to wake up hard to 
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function hard
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To cope without a 6 pack, a bag o'
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 weed or a bump of coke
F                D                
We've lost autonomy and depleted 
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all our dopamine now the world
F                D                
Does seem a dreary place devoid of
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 any hope without a vice
Continúa después del anuncio
F                D                
We poison ourselves and don't 
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think twice
F                D          
About the consequence when the 
      A#                  D
crutches feel so nice
F                D                
When we put band-aids on our 
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bullet wounds, we subtract good add 
vice
F                D                
When you decide to stop ya can't 
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go cold turkey because
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You're left with a brain all out 
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of wack though it can
F                D                
Be a quick hazy saunter down to 
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rock bottom it's a long road
F                D            
Back there ain't no seatbelts on 
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this wagon with every
F                D            
Speedbump we're launched back to 
    A#                  D
square one where we tell
F                D          
Ourselves that we'll do better 
      A#                  D
tomorrow
F                D                
I'm not sure that I'll be any 
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better tomorrow
F                D                
We tell ourselves promise 
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ourselves that we'll do better 
tomorrow
F                D         
I'm not sure that I'll be any 
       A#                  D
stronger tomorrow
F                D                
We promise ourselves  to ourselves
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 that well do better tomorrow
F              D         A#     
I'm not sure that I wanna wake 
       D
up tomorrow
F                D                
We tell ourselves promise 
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ourselves that we'll do better 
tomorrow
F                D                
But sooner those tomorrows cease 
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to come when you live anchored to a 
vice
F                D                
We poison ourselves and don't 
A#                  D
think twice
F                D          
About the consequence when the 
      A#                  D
crutches feel so nice
F                D                
When we put band-aids on our 
A#                  D
bullet wounds, we subtract good add 
vice