Frozen in the headlights, the wide-eyed dear smiles, 
jacked on cheap draft beer, 
While the idiot accelerates, 
pushing shots of schnapps, peddling sweet clichés. 
And the pretty little girl in the silly yellow dress 
will never save you from yourself. 
But the less she talks, the more your sure, 
you can turn her into someone else. 
God save the idiot praying in the breakdown lane. 
The devil take us all, we're all the same. 
All she wants to be is something sweet, 
And all you want to be is in her pants, 
All you really need is something sweet, 
But easy is easier. 

Though I hung my squandered promise 
on the bedpost by your head, 
Whispered low, "I think I'm dying." 
"Does it hurt?" was all you said. 
And when I finally felt less damaged, 
buying quintessential rounds, 
You'd gone fishing for psychosis, 
you were nowhere to be found. 
You cook it up, and I toss it back, 
I start to choke, you start to laugh, 
But I don't know, 
It doesn't go away. 
You'll say I brought it up, but I think you took it wrong, 
And it's happy hour all goddamn weekend long. 
If I've ever tasted faith, it rang more sour for your kiss. 
And though I've never been betrayed, 
I'm sure it stings a bit like this. 
You were the first lust that I've trusted, 
You'll be the last love I endure, 
You'll call it space, I call it war. 
You said, "There's a time for talk, there's a time for sleep, 
and goddamn it, 
you look tired."

This little girl's got everything, but none of it works. 
Everything hurts her. 
This little boy's got nothing, but everything's fine. 
He isn't sure why. 
Boy meets girl, tastes faith, 
finds everything he's learned, he learned too late. 
Uncertainty's a needle in your eye. 
Cross your heart 
and hope to god it dies. 

Fine, we'll sue for damages, 
I'm too tired to apologize tonight. 
We'll shut each other out, 
you take the bed, 
I'll take the couch. 
It's the ease of two TVs 
and a kitchen in between us 
where your "Melrose" fights my "Night Court" 
on a cold linoleum floor. 
And you, 
You're still beautiful. 
You'll try to understand a man 
who drinks too much, 
who thinks too much, 
And never does the things he's supposed to do, 
While I try to understand a girl 
who used to smile. 
And I try to figure out just what I'm doing, 
and what it is I've done to you. 
And you, 
You're still beautiful.

"Fuck off," 
a sentimental scribble on a postcard 
that may have found its way to your door. 
I felt like saying so much more, 
but there's so little room to write in. 
So let's us let bygones be bygone again. 
You're old tormentor needs a friend. 
And you're about as close as I get. 
See, there's this question that's been rattling' around my mind, 
Is it a matter of taste or just a matter of time? 
Am I driven to the girl with the desperate sigh, 
or do I drive them to it? 
So how's tricks? 
I hear you're entertaining all the up and coming pricks, 
I've always said you have a knack 
for taking more than you could give back. 
But don't get me wrong, dear. 
You'll always be the purr in my verse, 
The witless din behind my sick pop songs. 
And I guess I'll never forget 
the way the weight of your sigh could shake my bed. 

This is how I've kept my head wound tight, 
Lie to lie, numb to numb, 
and drunk to stumbling drunk. 
A little bit of faith goes a long, long way, 
But it's a dangerous thing in the hands of a man like me. 
God rains, it cuts like your paper dolls. 
The silhouette charms till you see the blood. 
You never feel the paper cut. 
And your sick love, your sick truth, is the only thing I can't see through. 
You're the only thing that hurts me now. 

Darling don't get too close tonight, 
something's gone foul in me. 
I haven't any use for your, "It's all right." 
I've little use for anything. 
And the lazy thoughts play torture with my head, 
driving solace from our bed. 
And the slip-shod angel bats her eyes, 
Sweet eloquence will hide tonight, 
from the derelict stabs 
of a man who knows his time has past him by. 
Pour me out damp and cold, 
When the bitter runs dry, 
there's forlorn, weak, and sick, 
to fill our glasses with. 
Lay me down, Juliet, 
where your silken hair paints tangles on my chest. 
Jesus never had to feel this much. 
Everyone smiles, 
their grins hang fathomless, 
smoky in the air, 
The putrescent pose of those who know, 
and still don't care. 
And every other word's too loud, 
and every other drink is laced with acid, 
And rancid etiquette screams, 
"Jesus, save your Judas, et tu fruitcake" 

I guess we'll fall from this thing stupidly, 
all flailing arms and bended knees, 
When what we should be thinking, 
grins a dream and drives us drunk. 
It wakes us aching, 
It swears tomorrow's just a piece of sleep, 
begs the permanence of strained release, 
and another drink to score the crease 
Between tonight and You and Me. 
Shitfaced and brilliant, 
with a swizzle-stick-halo, 
and a long, loud laugh. 
If I piss you off, 
that's just part of my charm, 
Rest assured, love, 
tomorrow I'll regret right before I sleep it off, 
I'm not holier than thou, 
I'm holier than god, 
And only half as mean a drunk. 
I've got a frontal lobotomy 
in the bottle in front of me, 
and way too much to say, 
I don't mean to hurt you all that much, 
but I'm beginning to think 
that you're just as fucked as everybody else, 
You can call it yet another schizophrenic bout, 
you can color me drunk, 
You can color me sick, 
Just color me in, 
because I'm fading out. 

Virulence bends, 
it buries its head in need. 
Habit breaks down, 
falls in love, 
and becomes diseased. 
The spirit twists, 
it writhes as it leaves. 
And the gold from the dawn is the only thing you need. 
Love begs, 
I bow down, 
And I fall like that gold upon the ground. 

You've worn out everybody else 
with all your morbid talk of dropping out. 
And while I may have come to help, love, 
I didn't come to talk you down. 
You've had your share of sympathy, 
I guess I'm here to bury your doubt. 
Angel, put the gun away, 
the suicidal things you say 
all sound like wolf to me. 
We'll braid up all your crazy thoughts, 
I'll tie the  knot and we'll swing. 
We'll cut the telephone wire 
to circumvent your second-guessing second nature. 
We'll skip the suicide note, 
they've got all the ones you wrote before. 
Tonight you'll get it right, 
you kill the lights, 
I'll lock the door. 
Angel, put the gun away, 
the suicidal things you say 
all sound like wolf to me. 
We'll braid up all your thoughts, 
I'll tie a lazy knot and we'll swing. 
Maybe I'm sick, or just a little bit colder, 
But tonight you've cried on the wrong shoulder. 
A pact is a pact, 
but in suicidal circumstance, 
your past belies your word. 
So don't be surprised when the gentleman beside you, 
kicks your chair out first. 

I'm feeling like I stubbed my toe 
on a chest of gold, 
It hurts like hell 
but I'm incredibly wealthy. 
Hail, holy mother Bloody Mary. 
I've got $67.50 in crumpled up bills 
from the paycheck I killed last night. 
I woke up dumb, 
but I'm working on a numb that'll carry me 
straight through Sunday tight, 
A red Madonna for brunch, 
a vodka tonic with lunch, 
God knows everybody's laughing with me. 
Hail holy mother, 
Where's The Whiskey. 
We'll be spackled by three, 
all black-n-tans and dry-heaves, 
I'll call you later, Man, 
she's looking to get laid, 
I'm fresh out of smokes, 
my life is just an inside joke, 
This one's on me, 
Where the hell are my car keys? 

If I were young, 
I'd leave here in the morning. 
You'd never know I went. 
You'd never know I kept on going. 
If I were older, 
I guess I wouldn't mind 
giving up, 
giving in, 
getting older. 
But lately the calendar seems to be pissed off at me, 
It's counting off all of my dreams, 
screaming see you later sucker, 
I'll write when I feel better. 
I'll scribble off another dead letter. 
If I were younger, 
I never would've stepped into the promises I've kept, 
I would've seen them coming. 
When I got older,
I'd wrap you in regret 
and curse the day I let your perfect smile slide by me. 
Twenty-hundred minutes of pre-recorded bitchings, 
taped ejaculations, 
and drunken confessions... 
It's a wash.