“I’m coming home…don’t wait up, mom, I’m alone.” And oh, how the echoes of these easy lies make their way through the phone. Time won’t slow this quickly creeping cold; I’m not coming home tonight.
Veni, Vidi, Vodka…odd that every song should sound the same. Make me believe God can hide in bottles, then maybe I’ll pray. I know right and I know wrong, but who the hell am I? I’m not coming home tonight.
Who told you rising without me was okay to do? Ooh, sorry I assumed…but Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, you must be tired too. Let the rain come round, water down these drinks I pound; I’m not coming home tonight.
Veni, Vidi, Vodka…odd that every song should sound the same. Make me believe God can hide in bottles, then maybe I’ll pray. I know right and I know wrong, but who the fuck am I? I’m not coming home tonight.
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