I`m locking all the doors. I`m busting up the mirrors.
Reflection is a dirty thing. It seems that`s all too obvious.
I didn`t dim the lights enough. They see me against the wall.
I`m making silhouettes, and it`s all my fucking fault.
I would prefer a breeze, but I`ll settle for this drink in front of me.
The humid night just sticks to my skin.
Isn`t that so generous. It follows me to sleep.
Now I toss and turn in. I hit the lights and sit at the edge of the bed,
Strumming what`s inside of me. I guess this night`s been turned into something useful.
I`m strumming my guitar looking out a dirty window. I`m drunker than I`ve been.
What else do I have to say or sing?
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