Won't you come on over
2 doors down to be precise
And slide below street level with me
Inside this hell that suffocates me
Under familiar skys is where I'm losing my mind
In a blue lit room a body fit for a tomb
Burning with shameful desires
All alone hanging on the end of a telephone
Waiting for some one to save me
And I'm trying to look up these days
But I'm just staring at the fucking ceiling
