It’s hard to say what’s real these days   My mind can be a dangerous place   She’s too naive for suicide   But god I wish that bitch would die      Give me, give me, give me, give me a reason   Why every night I’m losing sleep   God damn she’s on to me again   Or maybe I had too much to drink   You see I think I figured out   I figured out as I was thinking   How to stop her piercing voice   From everything that she was stealing   Get the gun, get the gun, get the gun   Is all I’m hearing again and again you know      I used to be such a hopeless man   And she used to be such a sweet, sweet thing      She’s too naive for suicide   But god I wish that bitch would die   Shot gun shells, yeah it’s alright   The whiskey says, “Let’s take her fuckin’ life.”      One thing I do remember   Is that things never get better   And I got to make the voices, make the voices for the maker   Of the maker making voices, making voices   Gotta make her, gotta, gotta make her stop   Before my head comes caving in again      You can walk this world all alone   But I can still hear her, tearing me apart