The Fine Art Of Making It Out Alive Lyrics

The Fine Art Of Making It Out Alive lyrics

Kiss me on the forehead,

 angel, before I go to sleep. 

I can't remember if it's Thursday or December. 

I've been keeping track of days

 by counting hangovers 

and bottles on my floor.

 My mangled memory is making me 

mistake misfortune for forgiveness.

 I don't think I'll make it out alive.

 So promise me that 

you'll survive to bury me.

 Just empty all the alcohol

 and chronicle the chemicals, 

but don't forget the cigarettes.

 Remember every ember. 

Alright, I admit that past

 few months were broken and abused. 

Now I'm used to the bleeding

 and unspoken words 

that kept me so confused. 

Maybe we can get past these addictions, 

but the bodies piling up 

are a whole other story 

unless your stomach's strong enough.

 Hell, maybe we can just pretend

 that this recovery, 

won't depend on moderation

 and in the end the same routine 

won't leave me dead. 

Just empty all the alcohol...or baby, we're dead. 

Tomorrow we'll wake up in time 

to stop this double suicide 

through kisses laced with cyanide

 and one last look through blood shot eyes. 

I guess this is what they call 

killing yourself in small doses