I've been at the bottom of a bottle
for many binge nights now
shutting the snowy daylight out
No such thing as a perfect person
only a perfect broken one
as he blows like a line of coke
every word we ever spoke
And those innumerable apologies to myself
haven't ceased the quacking of a volcanic heart
they never pierce the borders of an answer
I'm too precarious to figure out
There's no such thing as perfect order
only perfect chaos
Grabbing for a ghost
when the midnight has betrayed us
on the flooded streets by mountain-peaks
or the sticky stains of *** on the desk