IRC-Galleria

Sitting here wasted and wounded at this old piano
Trying hard to capture the moment this morning
I don't know
'Cause a bottle of vodka is still lodged in my head
And some blond have me nightmares,
I think that she's still in my bed
As I dream about movies they won't make of me when
I'm dead

With an ironclad fist I wake up and French kiss the morning
While some marching band beats its own beat in my head
While we're talking
About all of the things that I long to believe
About love and the truth and what you mean to me
And the truth is baby you're all that I need

I want to lay you down on a bed of roses
For tonight I sleep on a bed of nails
I want to be just as close as the Holy Ghost is
And lay you down on a bed of roses.