You’re walking into bars,
sober and sweet,
and by the end of night
you can barely stand on your own two feet.
I’m worried about you.
I’ve seen what you’ve grown into.
A selfless, soulless shadow of the man
I once knew.
You haven’t been yourself lately.
I can see that your wondering from our path again,
embracing other, hotter, hornier men.
I think it might be best to say we’re through
Before we start fighting.
Because, let’s be honest,
all you ever wanted to do was screw.