Looking for peace at the bottom of bottles,
though I search a bit more than I ought to.
Drinking more jager than most of Scotland,
My cheeks turn red and I start feeling coddled.
My mind is muddled...
Creeping in shadows the voices come back.
As the words burn, my soul turns black.
Im sweating bullets, and I'm crouched to attack.
Closed up tight, but my whip will crack.
I see the bottom of my bottle so I chuckle and say...
"Keep 'em coming'" as I guzzle my liquor down with no regret.
But all I want is that feeling... The feeling you get when you're
too far gone and its hard to breath. I want to end it, just how
the day ends, my life is my bottle and I am seeing the bottom.
