| You had a trumpet until you lost it
|
| You thought that music would make you whole
|
| But it only made you feel more alone
|
| And you didn’t even lose it
|
| You left it on the train, Southwest
|
| Probably never be seen again
|
| But you won’t tell your parents that
|
| 'Cause you know that they only meant well
|
| They thought that music could be the distraction
|
| To keep you from damaging yourself anymore
|
| Now there’s new cigarettes on your counter
|
| I thought you said you were cutting back
|
| The tragedy is that it started
|
| Because you don’t know what to do with your hands
|
| When they’re not intertwined, or holding onto someone else
|
| But now you’re with me, now you’re with me
|
| The smoke on your breath graced the neck of the bottle
|
| The story is complicated, it’s too hard to follow
|
| You’d much rather be with lukewarm pink moscato
|
| Than the nice beers that your friends bought
|
| 'Cause when you get drunk, it’s not to have fun
|
| When you give up, it’s not cause you’re in love
|
| It’s not cause you’re in love, it’s not
|
| 'Cause when you get drunk, it’s not to have fun |
| When you give up, it’s not cause you’re in love
|
| It’s not cause you’re in love
|
| 'Cause when you get drunk, it’s not to have fun
|
| 'Cause you when you give up, it’s not cause you’re in love
|
| It’s not cause you’re in love, it’s not
|
| 'Cause when you |