I wake up with blood on my hands,
Something I'm accustomed to.
It's sick, the sin,
That others make us do.

Others cheat, they steal, they lie.
Others make us want to die.
These people tear lives apart,
These people will break and crush your heart.
They will wreck your life without regret
Pushing you to your own death.
They will make you feel like there is no end,
You feel attacked with no way to defend.
The pain you feel burns deep within,
It screams to be noticed,
You lose your focus,
There go your motives,
You judge yourself hopeless,
And take it out on your skin.

I wake up with blood on my hands,
Something I'm accustomed to.
It's sick, the sin,
That others make us do.

This war that's waged is often lost,
Even if won it's left with a cost.
All your enemies team up as one,
Making it seem as if it's wise to run.
To win this war is not an easy feat,
You're enemy is not simply beat.
This enemy is more than just one.
It's everyone who deserted you, left you with none.
An enemy like this you can't plainly outrun.
You can't fight this enemy with strength and a gun.
This enemy must be fought with word.
Letting people know of all that you've heard.
Of all the hell they've put you through
And give yourself a chance to start anew.

I wake up with blood on my hands,
Something I'm accustomed to.
It's sick, the sin,
The others make us do.

There are some people, though, that aren't here to cause pain,
These people can help you abstain,
From all the pain self inflicted,
Help you recover from what you're addicted.
These people are few so if you find one
Make sure you always stay by their side and
Never let them go no matter what
They'll help you until you become uncut.
Then when you're recovered and your problems are done,
When all of your battles have been fought and won,
Never stray from that friend that helped you,
Be there for them in case they need you too.

I wake up with blood on my hands,
Something I'm accustomed to.
It's sick, the sin,
The others make us do.
Yet some will help us pull through.