Fine Art of Making It Out Alive

Kiss me on the forehead, angel
Before I go to sleep
I can’t remember if its Thursday or December
I’ve been keeping track of the days
By counting hangovers and bottles on my floor
My mangled memory is making me mistake
Misfortune for forgiveness
I don’t think I’ll make it out alive
So promise me that you’ll survive to bury me Just empty all the alcohol
And chronicle the chemicals
But don’t forget the cigarettes
Remember every ember
Alright, I admit
That past few months were broken and abused
Now I’m used to the bleeding and unspoken words
That kept me so confused
Maybe we can get past these addictions
But the bodies piling up are a whole other story
Unless your stomach’s strong enough
Hell, maybe we can just pretend that this recovery
Won’t depend on moderation and in the end
The same routine won’t leave me dead
Just empty all the alcohol, or baby
We’re dead
Tomorrow we’ll wake up in time
To stop this double suicide
Through kisses laced with cyanide
And one last look through blood shot eyes
I guess this is what they call
Killing yourself in small doses