Tennessee Murder Club - Gray Matter

So this is it, this is the edge of the cliff
Black is the cloud, never leaving
Brightest of the stars never looked so filthy
Oh sweet life please come find me
There is no doubt, becoming violently ill
Wrapped in the shroud, sick and creeping
Prized works of art never looked so ugly
Oh sweet death, please come take me
Stuck is the rat that swallowed the bait
Digested now, vomits too late, always too late
Fell from the vine, hard ground beneath
Became the wine they won't dare drink
Every little glimpse of hope once known
Is now the giant shit heap we call home
And every little step ahead that's made
Dissect to find the truth behind, the truth is grey