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 all adoration.
Destined it seems for this disease, becoming all I loathed,
Feigning all 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 all adoration.
Destined it seems for this disease, becoming all I loathed,
Feigning all 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 all adoration.
Destined it seems for this disease, becoming all I loathed,
Feigning all 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.