• The “Z” Virus
    You look at me and you see another rock star,
    One that’s gone too far (but you don’t know),
    It’s not just the heroin or cocaine,
    If you looked we’d be the same,
    Our insides ripped apart from the start,
    And you can’t fathom (just what it feels like),
    To start out through meiosis and end up in psychosis,
    While you sit in your closest (they’re out to get you),
    You make another deposit (with the devil),
    As if there’s a Hell, you’ll scream out,
    For the “Z” virus – the living dead,
    You are rotting on the inside,
    But it’s all in your head – now you’re dead,
    Yet you’re still walking,
    So you’ll shoot to kill then pop some pills,
    Enough to end the high; slow the thrill,
    Sleep calls and you try to follow,
    Close your eyes feelin’ hollow,
    Another day, another gig to play,
    Depression wakes you from another sleepless night,
    Screaming fans, a broken bass under the stage lights,
    And with you they’ll scream out,
    For the “Z” virus – the living dead,
    You are rotting on the inside,
    But it’s all in your head – now you’re dead,
    Yet you’re still walking,
    Make it back to the hotel and stare at the telephone,
    Seconds turn to minutes while you consider callin’ home,
    Nobody is there to pick up – their names are etched in stone,
    The hunger takes its toll,
    The sickness swallows you whole,
    You’d like to stop but you don’t know (how!),
    This is the time of your life,
    Why so contrite?
    Another needle, another shot to run away,
    Veins collapse, the feeling stays,
    And you rot away – screaming out,
    For the “Z” virus – the living dead,
    You’re rotting on the inside,
    But it’s all in your head – now you’re dead,
    Yet you’re still walking,
    It wasn’t always like this (or was it?),
    Your daddy up and left you,
    Your mama needed love,
    You had a little sister,
    But you preferred your drugs,
    And so you screamed,
    For the “z” virus – the living dead,
    You’re rotting on the inside,
    But it’s all in your head – now you’re dead,
    You are rotting on the inside,
    And you’re dead,
    White satin sheets stained red,
    It’s all in your head,
    Throw the stash out,
    Hide the monsters under your bed,
    You aren’t dead,
    You’re just a zombie – infected with the “Z” virus.