Lyrics:

Off Hell’s Winter, Cage reflects on time he spent as a small child with his father, a drug addicted Army veteran.
A cold day in Hell, I feel good. At least I feel as good
As real feels if real even feels good
I think back to being a kid and getting my ass kicked
And when I sold my soul to the Devil to make me rap sick
Page from Cage brain, angels dust off the ungodly
Riding through my childhood to hear my six-year old body
Blackout for second, pick my head up off the street
Little kid hands on my face, it’s not me in the driver seat
Father comes out screaming, drops the cigarettes and lighter
Scoops me up with his left arm, his right fist snuffed the driver
Takes me in the house, stops the blood from wandering out
Is this a dream or time travel? I ponder on the couch
Walks in with a black bag (“Chris, we’re gonna play a game, alright?”)
Wrap my rubber snake around his arm and made me pull it tight
Hit himself with a spike, drew blood and pulled his mask down
My hands blue until he let my arm go and he passed out

Erratic then gone, I go from manic to calm, watching
The yellow liquid dripping back out of his arm
No automatic alarm sounded, trying to wrap my six-year-old
Brain around it, went in his pockets, took his money, and couldn’t count it
Run to the front door, but it’s locked, observe it, pulled up a chair
To reach the deadbolt, but I’m too weak to turn it
Give it another try, my little eyes still scoping him, now I
Pan the room and see my escape in the open window
Scurry the floor, climb out, hang, then drop into the snow when
My captor snatches me back up (“Chris, where are you going?”)
Pulls me back into Hell, starts shaking me to weaken me
Then teaching me to be a man by repeatedly beating me
I hope I grow up before I’m finished being strangled
I black out then wake up tied to the coffee table
With a jump rope cable to my ankle so I can’t run
He walks back in the room (“I need your help again, son”)