View from Below

The hallway smells of lemon
With my face pushed to the ground
The windows at their very best
Are dripping to the sound
You'll never win the way you won again

In the bedroom, bastard swings
A plastic vodka jug
And I can see your penny loafers
Drop onto the rug
You'll never win the way you won again

Wish it was a two-way mirror on the ceiling
And I was looking through from the attic
Instead of getting carpet burn when I'm turning
Fighting sparks in the dark from the static

Two legs of the coffee table
Are scratched up by your cat
Well, I may take him far away
What would you think of that?
You'll never win the way you won again

You, the bastard, and vodka, me and the floor
Another perfect marriage, another perfect war
You'll never win the way you won again