If you look inside you’ll only find yourself,
Trying to run from the same damn shadow,
That’s haunted you all your life,
The answers you want, they’re not the answers you get,
If you look outside of the crime scene,
And you don’t examine the scuffs on your own shoes,
You’ll be a saint by the end of that bottle,
You’ll be a visionary holding a cigarette,
And through the blurry haze of the lamplight
Is there anyone still there?
No there’s nobody around, but you.