The Bacchanal Affair

Tonight we're drunk upon our nostalgia
So raise a glass to the black maria
Though laughter seems to soothe the pain
Of adoring all that I violate

I'm sick to death by the irony and all the lies that we create
When we're feigning every red-letter day

The chemicals aid in our neglect, feigning our adoration
Destined, it seems, for this disease, becoming all I loathed
Feigning our adoration

Dissembling passion, our foreplay to debauchery
A perfume of zinfandel and coffin nails intoxicates
Fair, Judas goat— you've got your sheep!

I'm sick to death by the irony and all the lies that we create
When we're feigning every red-letter day

The chemicals aid in our neglect, feigning our adoration
Destined, it seems, for this disease, becoming all I loathed
Feigning our adoration

Track marks and a trail of hearts will guide you home
There is a bleak horizon everywhere I roam
Track marks and a trail of hearts will guide you home
There is a bleak horizon everywhere I roam

The chemicals aid in our neglect, feigning our adoration
Destined, it seems, for this disease, becoming all I loathed
Feigning our adoration

Track marks and a trail of hearts will guide you home
There is a bleak horizon everywhere I roam
Track marks and a trail of hearts will guide you home
There is a bleak horizon everywhere I roam