A brown horse, with golden-brown manenmanic pressure on your veinsnso strong a need - a needle so thinnit's calling you, it's cold, the enemy withinnAnd I just feel as cold as icensharp as a blade, mute as a childnI feel so bad when I see you ridenthat sick little brown line from that sad white bagnnAnd when I see your face on dopenthese times I know there was no hopenyou hold the needle like a shining swordnand nothing matters anymorennYou're wearing dead white skinnNo face just dead white skinndead lips, so dead-white cleannplease, stop it, stop it, sister morphinennyou can kill yourself if you wantnbut you won't be the only onento fall back from the dead brown horsenI'll follow you - fix and rejoice !nnAnd I just feel as cold as icenmute as a blade, sharp as a childnI feel so bad when I see you ridenthat sick brown horse in that sad white bagnthat sad little white bagnthat sad little brown linensick sad bag backnwe all fall down from the horse's backnnAnd when I see your face on dopenthese times I know there was no hopenyou hold the needle like a shining swordnand nothing matters anymorennyou can kill yourself if you wantnbut you won't be the only onento fall back from the dead brown horsenI'll follow you - fix and rejoice !nnyou can kill yourself if you wantnbut you won't be the only onento fall back from the dead brown horsenI'll follow you - fix and rejoice !