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In the end will it matter that you've gone ? |
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In the end will I go on minding that you've gone ? |
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Will the night always seem so long, |
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Is it really darkest before dawn ? |
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Will I see whiskey as a Mother In the end ? |
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In the end will I smash my brains with drinking |
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Till I fall down on the floor, |
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Will I hiccup and jabber, |
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Saying things I never meant ? |
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Will I kiss and cry and wake to find |
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A sordid stranger by my bed ? |
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Will the world shake its sensible head |
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And say the words that have to be said: |
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'She's got a problem.' |
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Every problem has a solution in the end |
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And solutions must be final |
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For help gets so unhelpful near the end. |
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When I take my last ride |
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Down the big dipper slide, |
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Will I care, will it matter |
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If the world should say: |
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'She had a problem.' |
|
She had a problem. |
|
She had a problem. |
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In the end will it matter that you've gone ? |
|
In the end will I go on minding that you've gone ? |
|
Will the night always seem so long, |
|
Is it really darkest before dawn ? |
|
Will I see whiskey as a Mother |
|
In the end ? |
