When I crawled out of bed this morning. I could tell something wasn't right. There were cigarettes in the ashtrays. They weren't your menthol lights. There were beer bottles in the kitchen.
Once upon a time, my advice to you. Would have been go out. And find yourself a whore. But I guess I've grown up. 'Cause I don't give that kind of advice anymore.
When it all comes down. There'll be nothing left to catch you but ground. It's calling your name and filling your head. With delusions of glory. . Is that how you're gonna write your story?.