Drink.
Drink.
Drink.
That's all you ever do.
You tell me that it's just one glass,
or it'll stop tomorrow.
But it's always a lie.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Everytime your lips touch
that bottle of poison,
You become less of my mother,
and more of my devil.
And I love you,
I really do.
But sometimes,
everyone just get's tired.
And I am definitely tired
of worrying whether
you are going to drink again
or
you are going to kill yourself
or
you are going to drive drunk.
So I think im just gonna stick
around alittle while longer,
just to see if you'll really stop
this time.