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Eight-Ball, Coroner’s Pocket by Hail The Sun
Fictional physician
I get a large euphoria from such a small formula
Yeah, yeah
A little paper on the side will be my ticket to ride
Yeah, yeah
Heavy feeling
Refill my way to the sky
Happy feeling
Replacing doubt in my mind
Doctor’s orders: take some more
I’m hearing knocks at the door
Meddling family, go home
I feel much less than before
So what? (Because it)
Now what? (Is an axe)
Meddling family, stay away
Meddling family, go, go, go
Doctor, your patients are here
Hey, across the counter
You’ll quiet down as I slowly get louder
Cancer, coma, panic, pills
It just doesn’t matter
I swallow blackouts
Ahh
Formula helping us formulate
I still picture
All of what happened the day I got locked in my head
(Soma)
(Soma) Just get a script
(Someone) Needs medicine
(Silenced) Up ’til the end
(Soma) Just get a script
(Someone) Needs medicine
(Silenced) Up ’til the end
(So long)
And I’m losing my patients
I’m losing my patients
I’m losing my patients
I’m losing my, I’m losing my
Now I’ve lost all my patience
I’ve lost all my patience
I’ve lost all my patience
I’m losing my, I’m losing my
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