I’m counting back    the number of the steps    it took for me to get    back on the wagon of the weekend       I’ll use the autotimer to prove that    I got home with my imagination    if they find the body in the basement    “in the very house that she was raised in!”       I’m taking down    the number of the Times    so when we get the sign    from god I’ll be the first to call them       I’m taking back the number of the beast    cause 6 is not a pretty number    8 or 3 are definitely better    a is for the address on the letter    to my alcoholic friends       I’m trying hard    not to be ashamed    not to know the name    of who is waking up beside me    or the date, the season or the city    but at least the ceilings very pretty    and if you are holding it against me       I’ll be on my best behavior    taking shots for mother nature    once my fist is in the cupboard    love is never falling over       should I choose a noble occupation    if I did I’d only show up late and    sick and they would stare at me with hatred    plus my only natural talent’s wasted on my alcoholic friends    my alcoholic friend