| The grapes are ripped straight off the vine before ripe
|
| The fifths are drank the eighths smolder in the pipe
|
| Complaints to celebrate are fathomed and condomed
|
| Such a fucked up state not just wired drunk and stoned
|
| This must be for someone else
|
| Debauchery must be for someone else
|
| Someone else
|
| For someone else
|
| The drapes are drawn to be ignored to be polite
|
| They stand to leave and can’t stand to leave your side
|
| The walls were painted white now stained a color bone
|
| The calls are weak and faint holler into the phone
|
| This call must be for someone else
|
| This privacy must be for someone else
|
| Someone else
|
| For someone else
|
| Then I step into the room
|
| With plans to stay accept the doom
|
| I’m not about to lose my cool
|
| I’m just the lout to play the fool
|
| Leaves fall from the trees tangle in the rakes
|
| Leaves call out to me, «what angle to you take?»
|
| Leaves are glistening, glorious in the morning dew
|
| Leaves are listening flooring us with storied truths
|
| This must be for someone else
|
| Leaves of fate must be for someone else
|
| Someone else
|
| For someone
|
| For someone else |