I've been looking down the bottle for so long my eyes are corks
When I'm drinking liquid bread there isn't a need for forks
The only reason I'm here is because my father shot the stork
And my mother was wearing that white dress like it was her corpse
And their love sounded more like morse
Constant disconnect, hoarse

Things get a little ****** when you're having sangria dreams
When you're void of love, and you're falling asleep on mail you never opened, and bills you've got to pay, and pills you never want to take
And a pile full of your mistakes

You brush off, you shave, you work
Or you don't, and you sit in bed all day with guilty insides
And you open up another bottle of wine
And you think about love, mishaps and ***
But this time it doesn't hurt
Till that bottle of wine convinces you the pain is a flirt