tasting the now so familiar faced favorites of this life, this love at least
16 matching menuscia point fingerprints left only on a tongue

it all comes flooding back in bottles capped with talking heads
debilitating like heaven in stale beer bullet fume
moments you can taste it, be it… bottles capped with talking heads

we're drunks more than alcoholics
we don't have that many responsibilities
we live month-to-month, check-to-check
we're just bottles capped with talking heads
no kids to abandon, no women depending on us for support
we only hurt each other and then forget about it the morning after
it's always the morning after


Lyrics submitted by allandude

On The Greyhound Sipping The Wachusett Reservoir song meanings
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