Текст песни
Twenty-one with a crown, feeling like a god
Pour the poison in a cup, yeah, we give it a nod
Liquid courage in the veins, man, the feeling is bliss
We’re blowing smoke at the reaper, blowing fate a kiss
We think the liver is made of iron, the heart is a stone
Just social butterflies, never drinking alone
It’s just a "good time," right? Just a weekend haze
Losing track of the hours, losing track of the days
But the mirror don’t lie, even when the lights are dim
The glow is fading out, and the hope is looking slim
You’re trading in your future for a shot of the cheap
While the secrets of your sickness are the ones you won’t keep
And it’s a slow burn, baby, when the fire is cold
You’re selling off your youth before you’re even getting old
You think you’re bulletproof, dancing on the edge of the blade
But you’re pouring out the minutes of a half-lived life you made
Yeah, you’ll regret it when the gray starts showing in your hair
If you even live long enough to find yourself there
If you even live long enough to feel the regret
The bottle takes a tax that you haven’t paid yet
Thirty-five hits different when your hands start to shake
And the "hair of the dog" is the only breath you take
The doctor’s using words like "enzymes" and "scars
While you’re still chasing ghosts in the back of the bars
Your eyes look like lemons, that jaundiced yellow hue
The man in the reflection—man, you don’t even know who
Your kids are in the hallway, whispering, afraid
Watching the foundation of their hero start to fade
It ain’t a party no more, it’s a solitary cell
You’re ringing for the service in a five-star hell
You thought you had time, thought the bill wouldn't come
Now you’re staring at the bottom, and your soul is feeling numb
Cause it’s a slow burn, baby, when the fire is cold
You’re selling off your youth before you’re even getting old
You think you’re bulletproof, dancing on the edge of the blade
But you’re pouring out the minutes of a half-lived life you made
Yeah, you’ll regret it when the gray starts showing in your hair
If you even live long enough to find yourself there
If you even live long enough to feel the regret
The bottle takes a tax that you haven’t paid yet
And some don’t see the wrinkles, and some don’t see the white
They stayed forever twenty on one "unlucky" night
A tree trunk at sixty, a spin on the blacktop
A heart that was tired and decided to stop
Is the buzz worth the silence of a premature grave?
Being a king of the gutter, or a bottle-bound slave?
Now you’re sixty-five, maybe, if the luck held out
Walking with ghosts and a shadow of doubt
Every breath is a struggle, every organ is frayed
Counting up the price of the games that you played
Loneliness is heavy when the drinking friends are gone
Buried in the dirt, or just moved further on
You’d give back every bottle, every high, every toast
Just to have the health that you wasted the most
But the glass is empty, and the bar is closing down
And there’s nobody left to wear your tattered crown
Yeah
Just a "good time," right?
That’s what we told ourselves
Now the room is cold
And the bottle’s still full
But I’m empty
