| Every time I hit the ground, I'm stareing at a Bottle. Rolling out of bed onto the floor burying my Head in a trash can, heaving and releaseing all the evil consumed. Take another drink you'll be ok, the voice inside says to me, have another smoke, just don't choke, or you might puke. Drinking, fighting, trying, holding back the emotional dieing. Every time I remember those days and nights with beer cans and friends, all the times I feel so insignificent all the lies I heard, all those thoughts of tearing my heart from my chest. Playing the Chords, falling down, grasping the bottle, clasping it tightly, consumeing quickly, feel the burn travel faster down my throat, I feel myself start to choke, time to go out for a smoke!. |
