The fear of being lonely got her living a lie.
As if her mind is concussed, she's constantly fooled by lust.
I ask "what's wrong, can I tickle your thoughts?"
She tells me,
"From the tip of his tongue
I get a sense of the rum,
so I give him the benefit of the doubt
for why I'm treated like a drum."
So I told her,
"Don't let the liquor be the reason you have a permanent shiver,
scared for life,
cause he's destroying his liver."
She don't want to be preached to though
The feeling of being put down is hard when you're already low