| The bust got busted on the floor
|
| Ludwig’s looking a little sore
|
| With his good eye saying something
|
| Like «You're not twenty anymore»
|
| The whole downstairs reeks of booze
|
| The front doorknob’s coming loose
|
| You mighta thought you were getting better
|
| Here you are, what’s your excuse?
|
| The way the house looks
|
| You might think we were renovating
|
| All of these parties
|
| What are we celebrating?
|
| She took off sometime after 2
|
| With a dude less drunk than you
|
| There’s a stranger on the love seat
|
| With the strangest looking bruise
|
| A trail of glass leads down the hall
|
| An epithet scratched on the wall
|
| The window’s broken from the inside
|
| But here you are, who will you call?
|
| The way the house looks
|
| You might think we were renovating
|
| All of these parties
|
| What are we celebrating?
|
| The way the place looks
|
| You’re not sure who lives here lately
|
| All of these bodies
|
| What are we celebrating
|
| The trail leads out into the yard
|
| You step on a couple of shards
|
| You don’t mind because it wakes you up
|
| Helps you back into the start |
| Of a day rising anew
|
| Cheers to the radical you
|
| The one who almost lived through yesterday
|
| The day before yesterday too
|
| You wonder if you might be cursed
|
| With a perpetual thirst
|
| One that dries you up and wears you out
|
| Maybe that’s what you deserve
|
| Step over some people you know
|
| And others you’ve seen out at shows
|
| You think of thirty years from now
|
| How it all comes to a close |