I don’t know you,
but you’ve got that whiskey taste left on your lips,
‘n I’ve got teeth that want to pull ‘em.
I ain’t got a therapist, but if I did:
“you ain’t connectin’ to people, kid,
you ain’t givin’ ’em enough of yourself,
you go half-cocked ‘n saddle-shocked,
runnin’ about like god-damned chicken little.
give up a bit of yourself,
open up.“
if you don’t mind the smoke-stick-skin I got hangin’ off these bones,
if you don’t mind the whiskey thirst I got bangin’ ’round,
I got problems you ain’t gonna fix,
‘n I got moments that ain’t gonna sit,
but I’m planin’ on leaving myself,
in bitemarks ‘n memories,
peicemeal ‘n priceless with you.
I’m only a half-holdin’ heap anyhow,
so don’t expect the bits to rip clean,
but I ain’t
I can’t,
carryin’ this ’round no more.
‘n I don’t know you more than knowin’ you’re the only one who came,
to the party I threw with no notice,
you ‘n me, ‘n I got this need,
‘n you’ve got whiskey on your breath,
same, same as me,
ain’t that the same as a kiss anyhow?
