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