Текст: Rebuke. Wouldworks. Bartenders & Tarbenders.

I saturate my blood with nicotine, responding to the message on the screen
trying not to think about the fun I'm not having

replace my blood with gasoline, turn my body into a machine
and it doesn't make me happier not thinking about it

time to immerse myself (a baptism by firewater)
an invitation to that homely cell

repeating comfortable mistakes (does anyone ever get smarter?)
the challenge is to find new bars to shake (not break)
top off my glass and lead me to square one (where I begun)
the problem always was I never knew when I was done