You drink because you’re lonely, you drink because you’re sad
You always claim every party was the best time you’ve ever had
You drink because you’re scared of a life of living off your own company.
You won’t say it but I can see it in your eyes.

Of all of the things I could become
A lonely drunkard isn’t one for which I would’ve wished when I was young
But drink has drunk my days away
I tried to live like Hemingway, but life just doesn’t work that way
And the pills don’t kill the pain, they just delay.

We drink because we’re scared that, if we should stop,
The good times will go away but the bad times will not.
And what if it’s over, and we’re sober, and we still feel like we’re fixing to die.
What then?
Don’t say it, I can see it in your eyes.

The next round is on me.

(Frank Turner, you beauty.)