Inspiration comes only after three glasses of wine or a 12 hour bus ride north 
Some things never change. 
What happens when wine runs out or when people stop breaking my heart
It's bitter sweet to think this will all stop 
The catharsis 
I'm home within my pain because I'm home within my ink 
I suppose I've done it before in times of desperation
Ripping out my own heart, picking my own good grapes
Stomping on them both as equals 
As nothing but something to choke down and spit back up onto paper 
After all, the sun can only shine for so long until we all start dancing for rain 
You and I both know we do it for the rainbows and the clouds