The Junkie

He walks down the street in a world all his own,
His eyes are on fire, he's perpetually stoned.

He can't even function without his little white pills.
They fills him with passions, hatred and chills.

He wanders on aimlessly with a nose full of coke,
And to think it all started with one simple toke.

Grass, blow and uppers in his pocket they lay.
Just waiting for someone who's willing to play.

You see, the drugs they stick by him, they help him pulls through.
They let him do things he never thought he could do.

Although they may help him do as he wishes,
He can never make up for the time that he misses.

You see:

All the while he thinks these drugs have been making him strong,
But the truth is they've been smoking him all along.