The Man That I Was Not Fit for an Autopsy

Beggars can't be choosers
Unless they opt out of the game
In rose-colored relief
Empty out
A glass of my own veins

I kicked that back when
Self-improvement sounded oh so sound
A toast to the good old days
They'll be rats here soon
If it stays this quiet

Let 'em in, let 'em stay
Let 'em in, let 'em stay
(At least something gets what it wants)
Let 'em in, let 'em stay
Let 'em in, let 'еm stay

Make me the man that I was not
I'vе dug this grave a hundred times
The dirt exhausted as the mind
Make me the man that I was not
Cold feet at the altar of fire
Inhale the ash 'til the lungs retire
Make me the man I was not