[ It's the taste of vomit that really gets you. ]

It's the taste of vomit that really gets you.
Not the thick stench of perfume.
Not the complete disregaurd to virtue.
Not even the color of dark blue in the room.
It's just that searing taste of puke,
That's what really brings you back to.
That's what really makes you take a good long look at... you.
What you've become that gives you a clue,
Into where you are and what it is that you're hugging to;
Once cool porcelain made hot and sticky by the stew,
Of the stomach acid mixed with two days worth of food.

It's just about now that you realize your part, oh...
But that's not the part that sends you into sorrow.
It's the fact that this is where you'll be tomorrow.
This is where you'll be as these days go.
No one's been here since about three days ago.
You know, when you decided to take nine hits of blow.
In this abandoned house, because you figured some lucky joe,
Would pick your pieces up and help you out of this woe.
But alas, here you are, and here you'll be.  This is what you know.

And you realize this, when the taste of vomit hits your tongue.
You realize this, when you run out of food... now replaced by blood.