Tomorrow. God Willing. Nevermind.
I’m afraid there’s nothing left to say,
I’m original in all the same ways.
Toss and turn through fitful wake,
Wretched sleep in the bed I’ve made.
I was drunk, but I sobered up;
Superstitious once, but I believe in love.
I want a hand to fit the glove.
I was drunk when I drove the point home.
Seems I need to be to pick up the phone.
Wrecked a heart of ice and snow,
Buried the hatchet in a shallow hole.
I was drunk, but I sobered up;
Superstitious once, but I believe in love.
Without a hand to fit the glove.
Tomorrow.
God willing.
Nevermind.
