She wrote poetry that burned her hands
And bought cheap vodka that ran down her throat
Because someone once told her "art and alcohol are the only things that drown our sorrows"
So she found comfort in both
Until the liquid sin filled her lungs
And she had nothing left to say
And bought cheap vodka that ran down her throat
Because someone once told her "art and alcohol are the only things that drown our sorrows"
So she found comfort in both
Until the liquid sin filled her lungs
And she had nothing left to say