Gloves for Garbage - Damaged Bug

You’re busting pills inside my head

That make it seem like I am dead, again

I must be flying through the sky

I heard it’s where you go when you die

La-la-la

La-la-la

I must prepare to take another drink

It’s hard to stand, it’s hard to speak

I must be lost within lights, blinking holes

I must be scratching quietly upon the walls, again

La-la-la

La-la-la

La-la-la

La-la-la