I think you keep secrets
I suspect you make trips to a place you lay flowers and pay your respects and all my deficiencies (which you decry) are of gifts she hugged to her flesh
As I stand at the end of a 1000 year drunk, you recall indiscretions past and I wish it took me back
If there's a moral to this story, it's that I'm never gonna learn from anything
Though I call this the end of my 1000 year drunk, still my hands search out a gla**
You remain sold on the dust of her bones and who could compete with that? I refuse to compete with that.