She keeps the sadness to herself
It makes her feel like hell.
Maybe if she didn't feel, the pain could go away.
So she lets the alcohol fill her veins and the smoke in her eyes.
Hoping that one more hit might do the trick
And a couple more swigs will cure the sickness
She drinks and drinks and drinks until she can hardly talk
Her words slurring along, just as unclear as her vision
I taste the blood on my lips, like a new addiction
And it's then when she realises how ironic everything is, so she laughs
