Sometimes it's your drunk self that knows what you need best.
A thousand blades to the slaughter
Of a hundred kisses and ninety nine words.
I'm done with today, the sun now rises
Over the empty husk of a stoned dream.
A drunken promise to a one night love
Trodden into the dirt by a thousand hooves
Or sober logic. We were kings,
Monarchs of the blurry land.
A cup of wine to our health, so it is,
An inebriated crown. But how royal was
Our silken white flag, to the morning's army
As its thousand swords attacked our whiskey walls?
Maybe someday we'll rise again
Called from the pits of nine-to-five
By the ghost of the castles you'll probably forget.
Do you remember? We were kings for a night.