These cuts.
These scars.
These crushed cigars.
Those bars.
Those stars.
When you fall.
"Don't you see you're hurting yourself?"
"Don't you see these wounds will stay forever?'
"Don't you see how our kids can't live with your ways?"
"Every night I drive to that emergency room,
I have seen you had fallen from the stool
concussion hopefully teach a lesson or two."
And they say.
"Don't drink too much you might just spill your soul out."
But you say.
"One bottle wouldn't hurt too much."
"A second wouldn't be so bad for me."
"And a third because I never can get enough."
And by your eighth bottle, you gambled your money away.
And by the twelfth bottle, your thirteen-year-old keeps saying.
"Mom there is a monster laying beside you."
And they say,
"One bottle wouldn't hurt too much."
Next day, you say you're feeling low.
Must've been your vertigo.
Your son decided to not show up.
And you're asking "Where the alcohol go?"
These cuts.
Those bars.
These scars.
Those stars.
These crushed cigars.
When you fall.
You go play ball.
Gamble all.
And you say.
"One bottle wouldn't hurt too much."
"A second wouldn't be so bad for me."
"And a third because I never can get enough."
And by your eighth bottle, you gambled your money away.
And by the twelfth bottle, your seventeen-year-old tells mom.
"Mom if you don't stop him there won't be any him to stop."
And they say,
"One bottle wouldn't hurt too much."
These scars.
These crushed cigars.
Those bars.
Those stars.
When you fall.
"Don't you see you're hurting yourself?"
"Don't you see these wounds will stay forever?'
"Don't you see how our kids can't live with your ways?"
"Every night I drive to that emergency room,
I have seen you had fallen from the stool
concussion hopefully teach a lesson or two."
And they say.
"Don't drink too much you might just spill your soul out."
But you say.
"One bottle wouldn't hurt too much."
"A second wouldn't be so bad for me."
"And a third because I never can get enough."
And by your eighth bottle, you gambled your money away.
And by the twelfth bottle, your thirteen-year-old keeps saying.
"Mom there is a monster laying beside you."
And they say,
"One bottle wouldn't hurt too much."
Next day, you say you're feeling low.
Must've been your vertigo.
Your son decided to not show up.
And you're asking "Where the alcohol go?"
These cuts.
Those bars.
These scars.
Those stars.
These crushed cigars.
When you fall.
You go play ball.
Gamble all.
And you say.
"One bottle wouldn't hurt too much."
"A second wouldn't be so bad for me."
"And a third because I never can get enough."
And by your eighth bottle, you gambled your money away.
And by the twelfth bottle, your seventeen-year-old tells mom.
"Mom if you don't stop him there won't be any him to stop."
And they say,
"One bottle wouldn't hurt too much."