Bea

I drank my beer in the morning
I smoke while I'm in bed and I
Torture myself with the things you
Could have said

And I know
I'm always addicted to all the filth
That you left behind
On the bedsheets
When you left in the morning time

And I crave to be wasted
I want what's no damn good for me
Still, I waste what's left on you
It's my poetic way to grieve

I only pray when things go wrong
I never want what comes along
In the end I'm just another victim
Of my own sad song

Still, I call
Even though I know you won't answer the phone
And I break and I cry
I scream and I try to
Leave a message after the tone

And I crave to be wasted
I want what's no damn good for me
Still, I waste what's left on you
It's my poetic way to grieve

And I crave to be wasted
I want what's no damn good for me
Still, I waste what's left on you
It's my pathetic way to grieve