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Digging the Grave

de The Swellers

I'm sorry I had to write this to you, but
I can't let you do this after all that
I've been through. If you don't want to talk to me,
that's fine, but first
I need to tell you of a former friend of mine.
His mom and dad didn't care what he did and he began to hang with the wrong crowd of kids.
For awhile he got along just fine,
but then the story starts, the great decline.
He made friends with Bud and Mary Jane.
They introduced him to his current best friend crack cocaine. Loneliness had nearly done him in, but then he discovered a new game where he always wins.
13 year-old girls cannot resist when they're down with GHB and shackled wrists.
For a life to just to up in flames there needs to be someone to point the blame.
For awhile you'd think that you were free again, then you realize you have nowhere to go. Instead of blaming yourself for your ill, you're blaming other people you should know.
I don't know if you stopped reading this letter yet, but I sure hope that you have heard me out.
I care about you, you're my best friend.
If you care about me, too, you'll answer now.

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