Houston, We Have a Drinking Problem

There was laughter one fall ago, now its distilled
The remenats are tinted brown sinking to the cup tipped upfor a toast
Your window is a television lit up with a line of pretty people
Waiting for their fifteen minutes
The actors are fake friends but at least I know they don’t secretly hate me
Can you hear me? Can you hear me clipping on your radio?
There’s a song playing on my stereo
I sing along wishing I could become a vessel
So my soul can soar, can travel back in time
I sing along to my stereo
It always sounds better in my head
I wanted to write a fuck you song, now i know that the you could be me
There’s a vague resemblance in the looking glass to a person that I once knew
Maybe hed tell me, «its a sad stale coffee cup slogan, youre not going to make
it.»