Here I am, passed out on the floor again,
I must confess, I'm a mess, tried to drink myself to death
No this ain't the first time, or the last.
I fucked up, not once, not twice, too many times, you see.
So why am I still living if this poor life ain't for me?

These bottles are my only family.
My lover and my friends don't mean shit, to me.
As long as I got money to spend,
They'll always be there for me.

Aren't I such a work of art?
Look at me, stumbling up streets,
with bruises scrapes and scars, no memory.
No this ain't the first time, or the last.
I fucked up, not once, not twice, too many times, you see.
So how do I keep living with myself when I can't even fucking sleep?

I've been down so many roads.
I've seen so many faces,
but I still can't bare to even glance at my own.
Overwhelmed by the shame, consumed by the guilt,
and I'm everything but willing to change.

Oh and I can't seem to quench my thirst,
my appetite for my own destruction.
Slowly wearing myself thin, off the beaten path again,
to die where no one knows my name.

It's been years since I've lost everything
my lover and my friends don't even speak to me
I ain't got a dime to spend,
what a tragedy.

Here I am, passed out on the floor again,
I must confess, I'm a mess, tried to drink myself to death
No this ain't the first time, or the last.