There are things that lead a man to drink
One being to much time on his hands to think
Which leads him to the bottles brink
Before he even has a clue

The what if's and what could have been's
Has never been this mans best friend
With no relaxing in the thieves den
All it can do is steal from you

So pull up a stool or a liars chair
In the process of hurriedly getting nowhere
In the drowning thick air of nobody cares
It gets hard to move

In what should have been diamonds and such
Is no more now than bent tin and rust
With the push of life being more like a shove
To the bitter side of youth

As I order up another round
For the sorry likes of this one man crowd
Raising a toast to all my doubts
That I'll somehow make it through

There are things that lead a man to drink
One being the pull of his past deeds
As the thought of it all takes its leave
As he steps off of the stool...