When the drug leaves your veins, and your soul drifts away, and the person in you becomes found, you will walk through the gates, until then I'll await, for a much-needed chat on a cloud.
When our time here is done, and our ash turns to dirt, when the needle is out of your arm, you will see all the hurt, and the ones down below your addiction did nothing but harm. There are no bottles and pipes, no powder and knives, in this magical place we will go. The one who will sit, next to me for a bit, is the person you were long ago. I will answer your questions, on all that you missed, as we kept on in life all alone, and we'll cherish the times that I prayed late at night, for the addict to hurry back home.