zephyr
The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The lonesome organ grinder cries
It's not a great time for you.
You're drunk, for one. Like, super drunk. Blood-alchohol-level-pushing-0.3% drunk, though that's really not a high content for someone like you. Not yet blackout, more's the pity, and capable of sobering up if need be but with no real desire to do so. High functioning alcoholism, that's the game you're trying to beat.
Sam will find you sitting on the couch, a bottle of rum still in your hand. Awake, more's the pity, and sitting up as he calls, blinking in confusion at the sight of his.... not-blood. "'Sup, Red," you greet him somewhat more languidly than you really ought, your foggy mind clearly incapable of piecing together what's going on. Raising your bottle, you extend it toward him. "Ya look like ya need a drink."
You're drunk, for one. Like, super drunk. Blood-alchohol-level-pushing-0.3% drunk, though that's really not a high content for someone like you. Not yet blackout, more's the pity, and capable of sobering up if need be but with no real desire to do so. High functioning alcoholism, that's the game you're trying to beat.
Sam will find you sitting on the couch, a bottle of rum still in your hand. Awake, more's the pity, and sitting up as he calls, blinking in confusion at the sight of his.... not-blood. "'Sup, Red," you greet him somewhat more languidly than you really ought, your foggy mind clearly incapable of piecing together what's going on. Raising your bottle, you extend it toward him. "Ya look like ya need a drink."
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you
