It's the black and white memories,
the one's that we all try to hide,
but the more that's blocked, the more you see,
and you can't erase what's inside.

She tells her story, and it's heartbreaking,
while you say sorry you're both shaking,
you tell yourself this is real, but you're really feeling numb,
that's how you always feel when you're at Don's Plum.

She tells her fears to quiet mirrors,
and expresses her sadness and stress.
Through all the tears she prays someone hears her,
because it's gotten to madness and she's become a mess.

In the booth you're all laughing, sharing the old jokes,
but the cigarette smoke is masking your instinct to choke.
You think you're made of steel, but you know you're just ****,
that's how you always feel when you're at Don's Plum.

Every song you hear is nostalgic,
and it brings a smile to your face,
within the whispers is a hint of magic,
but the topics are lacking charm and grace.
And every soul that wanders in, is worse when they're outside,
for everyone is born of sin, but we sure all seem satisfied.

She tells you her story, and it's heartbreaking,
it all came before me and the choices I'm making.
You've lost track of how to deal, you say the issues are dumb,
and that's how you always feel when you're at Don's Plum.