| At the bottom of an empty glass
|
| See myself going nowhere fast
|
| And the barman tells me it’s time to leave
|
| But I haven’t got time to care
|
| If I have so much love to give
|
| Where is that will to live?
|
| Maybe you old friend will show me how
|
| Come here pull up a chair
|
| I get paid, paid to get drunk
|
| Spend my money on any old junk
|
| And every morning kills my soul
|
| At the end, the end of each day
|
| Every drink is directed my way
|
| Well every morning kills my soul
|
| Sports plays on the corner screen
|
| This feels like a movie scene
|
| And I’m long past done with cliche’s and all
|
| My eyes are much to blurred
|
| This is how I live my life
|
| Escaping worries, eternal strife
|
| And I’ll try to talk to anyone
|
| But my speech is much too slurred
|
| I get paid, paid to get drunk
|
| Spend my money on any old junk
|
| And every morning kills my soul
|
| At the end, the end of each day
|
| Every drink is directed my way
|
| Well every morning kills my soul
|
| Oh, ah, oh, oh, ah
|
| Oh, oh, oh, ah, ah, ah
|
| At the bottom of an empty glass
|
| See myself going nowhere fast
|
| And the barman tells me it’s time to leave
|
| But I haven’t got time to care |