Drugs and alcohol, all of the above
All of the usual
Peculiar surroundings amount to nothing
More often than not
His an attitude reeling with despair
More often than not
Time spent at home alone fastened to that ugly green chair
Afflictions left, right and centre
An endless array of impossible to ignore addictions
Sought him out and took him down
One way or another
Like a loving albeit punch-drunk mother
The worst, most unromantic game to be playing
This was his every day
How things might turn out when you’ve been terribly bold right from the very beginning
Now all that he has left is his singing

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