| Holding fast until the rent checks wear thin
|
| because it hasn’t sunk in… so far
|
| Well it’s a drab routine, the dust storms building
|
| and then it’s hard to come clean
|
| Then the months stack up to an addictive crutch
|
| As if the drink weren’t enough
|
| A stagger cannot compete
|
| There’s no charm in being residential state street
|
| And if I was sober
|
| could I kill caution and stay over
|
| And if I was sober
|
| would I rip hearts apart like paper?
|
| I wish you could know better than you show
|
| with parted lips pointed down
|
| That the whiskey soothes more than you could ever do.
|
| And if I was sober
|
| Could I kill caution and stay over?
|
| And if I was sober
|
| Would I rip hearts apart like paper?
|
| What a difference it made
|
| What a difference it made
|
| And if I was sober
|
| Could I kill caution and stay over?
|
| And if I was sober
|
| Would I rip hearts apart like paper?
|
| What a difference it made
|
| What a difference it made |