Things like hopes and dreams and running seams.
Fall away. Do not float, depress.
Express only oils and honest experience. Purified of childish things, we bring only truth coloured like jade.
Mistakes have been made.
It's hard to explain.
Where, oh where, to begin? The benign? The end?
The days and ways of shattered faith, and other trash.
Remain only bitters, let's make an Old Fashion.
Manhattan? I had different drives.
Still here we are, in such a dive, delightful.
Oh let's just make it a whiskey and gin.
You grin and we taste.
It's awful.
We ordered them all night.
Nothing's alright and we smile.
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