The pills in my bag rattle around.
That, to me, is a most comforting sound.
I know they'll always be there if I'm being brought down.

I'll yell and I'll shout until my throat aches.
You can't say you're sorry; it's already too late.
Now to fix this, I don't think I've got what it takes.

You're the new victim, the next on my list.
If I were you, I'd be scared; it'll be a hard hit.
Because I know there's nothing I could possibly have missed.