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Vincent Valentine
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Fuck A'cappellas... This Isn't The 19th Century
By the eighth Guinness down, they're closing up shop. I guess it's time for me to leave. So now I'll walk the old town I forever will call my home With a guitar on my back and a heart on my sleeve.
And I know as long as those streetlights shine, I'll have a place to call mine.
Within a mile of home, the stench of booze on my clothes, I think of what will not be there as I lay alone In my bed turned away from the cold grave on your side. And I may wait for all time, or I just might end up dead.
It's never gonna get any better, but it can't get worse.
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