So, is that what you call a getaway? Tell me what you got away with. Cause I’ve seen more spine in jellyfish. I’ve seen more guts in eleven-year-old kids. Have another drink and drive yourself home. I hope there’s ice on all the roads. And you can think of me when you forget your seatbelt, and again when your head goes through the windshield.
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?
No one is afraid of heights, they are afraid of the fall, No one is afraid to play, they are afraid to lose, no one is afraid of the dark, they are afraid of what's in it, no one is afraid to say "I love you", they are afraid of the response.