Maybe we all have a story to tell.
Of a ruined love affair.
The powder on your Dad's hands.
Your Mother's luke-warm beer and smile.
And please don't bother to tell me.
I'll just nod my head.
So believe in what you can't see,
And don't cry to me.
When the bottle sits in your hands
And the company is caked in coke.
And you can't wish it away,
Or blame them.
The pattern on the cigarette burned rug is fading fast,
As are your excuses.
And I'm just shaking my head.