It's different when you're lonely,
|
the whole world's in love.
|
Holding hands between bar stools,
|
and you're holding your tounge.
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Hold on - you're so fucked up...
|
so fickle.
|
Isn't this what you want?
|
So simple, so single.
|
But it's different when you're helpless.
|
When the bars close their doors,
|
growing hostile towards your waitress...
|
those extra tips went ignored.
|
|
It's different 'cause you're desperate
|
Begging mercy on the sidewalk
|
to a sea of last callers
|
(keep the conversations quick
|
and keep them interested!)
|
You're different...and they sense it
|
Your eyes can't disguise it...
|
so glassy, half empty.
|
Ready to spill.
|
|
Hold on- please don't leave yet.
|
I can't go home alone,
|
it doesn't go over so well.
|
So hold on just a little longer.
|
At least through the night,
|
at least 'til the morning.
|
Hold on. Hold on to me.
|
I can hardly stand - much less
|
the sight of myself.
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So hold on, hold on tight dear.
|
Put your foot on the gas -
|
get me the fuck out of here.
|
|
-----------------
|
O'Rourke's, 1: 20 A.M.
|
| The Good Life |
