Toscana

I close gently in my hand
What I intend to keep
And let fall the rest
From basements backrooms and these cruel extremes
Take these thoughts from my head
In the morning I see clearly
That all is wrong
And I’m just another going down
The perfume from the cut
Makes me ache
Whiskey clouds thought
Drive reason away
Your love is as twisted as the world I see
And all your touch is apology
In the morning I see clearly
That all is wrong
And I’m just another going down