There’s times in life when we reach the point of no return and we feel something deep within us start to slowly burn.
I’ve felt the cold hands of death grip and hold me firm.
Time for a change of pace isn’t the only term I can use to describe what now needs to occur.
'Cause as of late all my days, months and weeks are a blur.
I’ve peaked concern for my family and closest of friends.
As I sprint toward the finish line, approaching the end of this race we call life like I’m preparing to hurl myself right into the tape without a care in the world.
‘Cause once you cross the line, you’re done.
You only get one race.
Time to slow down to a comfortable pace and keep moving.

There’s something haunting me that’s lurking in my soul with a vicious grasp.
I can’t help but ask “Will I regain control?”
See, even though it’s rooted so deep, I’m ready to now learn to try to take my life back.
I’m ready to fight back and turn the tide.

How the hell’d it come to this?
I wish I could’ve told that the self-intervention would be put on hold.
I let the liquor do a number on me this time.
Now I need some life elbow grease from this spit shine to clean the mess that I allowed myself to make.
Drowning every single ounce of me, such a selfish state.
Almost met a hellish fate at the hands of this shit.
I’ll be damned if it lands me another ambulance trip.
I’m tryna keep my candle lit.
I’m only twenty-four years.
I’ve got plenty more smiles and plenty more tears
Plenty more fears to face and years to chase.
More tears to taste before I near the gates.
Here’s the case, I’m sick of liquor leading me to stupid shit.
I’m setting down the bottle, making sure it starts to loosen grip.
Maybe I should think about re-picking up my crucifix.
I’m too legit to not put on the shoes that fit.
Do it quick.

There’s something haunting me that’s lurking in my soul with a vicious grasp.
I can’t help but ask “Will I regain control?”
See, even though it’s rooted so deep, I’m ready to now learn to try to take my life back.
I’m ready to fight back and turn the tide.

Now what the fuck is this?
I’m waking up in intensive care.
My face is numb like I’m sitting in a dentist chair.
My head is pounding like my brain is fighting drum machines.
Vision blurry like my corneas are filled with tumbleweeds.
Ears buzzing like bumblebees.
Stomach full of butterflies.
Mom and dad on each side of me, standing there with flooded eyes.
I’ve got an IV in my left hand.
My mouth is bitter and gritty like I ate a mouthful of wet sand.
The last thing I can remember is me taking shots.
I guess I didn’t have the sense in me to make it stop.
‘Cause Ben and Steve had to rush me to the ER, where doctors saved my life from the free fall.
See, if .40 is legally dead, then I should be laying six feet deep.
I should be easily dead.
‘Cause they tell me I was ready to find heaven.
The doctor said I had a .511.
Damn, it’s such a trip to know that death had had its claws in me.
Ain’t like I was fighting much.
Ain’t like I was hard to reach.
But I ain’t even tryna see that fucker’s sickle yet.
Now I just gotta worry about the cigarettes.

There’s something haunting me that’s lurking in my soul with a vicious grasp.
I can’t help but ask “Will I regain control?”
See, even though it’s rooted so deep, I’m ready to now learn to try to take my life back.
I’m ready to fight back and turn the tide.