| It’s different when you’re lonely,
|
| the whole world’s in love.
|
| Holding hands between bar stools,
|
| and you’re holding your tounge.
|
| Hold on — you’re so fucked up…
|
| so fickle.
|
| Isn’t this what you want?
|
| So simple, so single.
|
| But it’s different when you’re helpless.
|
| When the bars close their doors,
|
| growing hostile towards your waitress…
|
| those extra tips went ignored.
|
| It’s different 'cause you’re desperate
|
| Begging mercy on the sidewalk
|
| to a sea of last callers
|
| (keep the conversations quick
|
| and keep them interested!)
|
| You’re different… and they sense it
|
| Your eyes can’t disguise it…
|
| so glassy, half empty.
|
| Ready to spill.
|
| Hold on- please don’t leave yet.
|
| I can’t go home alone,
|
| it doesn’t go over so well.
|
| So hold on just a little longer.
|
| At least through the night,
|
| at least 'til the morning.
|
| Hold on. |
| Hold on to me.
|
| I can hardly stand — much less
|
| the sight of myself.
|
| So hold on, hold on tight dear.
|
| Put your foot on the gas —
|
| get me the fuck out of here. |