Bottle

A stinking sun burned me awake,
Through the shattered windowpane.
I recalled through the eyes of claret red,
He had taken me again.
And the hair of the dog revives me,
But I find it hard to swallow.
It's a marriage made in heaven between me and the bottle.

A thousand words fell through my hands,
And the room just spins.
This sodden mattress holds my heart,
And it cradles my regrets.
I read it once again,
But he knows that I'll not follow.
It's a marriage of convenience between me and the bottle.

Now king alcohol comes back,
With his static and his pride.
And he wanders, drunk and skinful,
Through my throat all parched and dry.
And if I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Then I could rest,
And never wake again in sorrow.
It's a marriage on the rocks between me and the bottle.