Fine whiskey stirred under two cubes of ice
Glass getting cold as the roof top floods
Condesation causing precipitation
Weatherman didn't say anything about rain
But this storm has been brewing
In the gulf of my heart
Wild winds blowing like tornadoes through
Already devastated brain cells
Knocking sense in and out of my conscious
Bottle beside me and I'm prepared for the hurricane
It's howling siren roaring on the silence
Paul Revere riding the winds calling a new threat
A new call to arms
No. 7 and a blade
The new way to fight my battles
I'll sleep when this storm breaks
Maybe it won't
But I'm getting soaked as the glass grows empty
Bottle already drained
Guess the flood gates broke early this time