There it is!
Vague memories of a night
at a Brand New show,
when the truth hit as hard
as the ***** and the music.

I'm only good for the people
I love, and that love me,
when things get to the point
that crisis appears.

I can dance Irish jigs in the street,
but only when I'm drunk,
I can spit in the face of people
much bigger and angrier than me,
but only when I'm drunk,
I can live how I believe I should,
but only when I mix the right amount
of alcohol and/or other things,
and only for that night.

The rest of the time I am
a slave to memories and
intrusive thoughts, states
of agitation based on a
chemical and experiencial
**** up in my head.

When you need me to
pull you out of a crack house,
or be fierce enough to keep
you from shooting up one more time,
I'll be there of course.

But happiness and bliss,
when everything is going
exactly the way it should...
I'm bad at that.