Drunk on Novacaine

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& everything's been done has,
words twisted&mniapltuaed
until they're what you want to hear
and in your drunken slur, it's hard to tell
novacaine from reality to pricks in your skin.
I'd slap you, but it's hitting (on) you,
(& in your fucked up kind of game)
I play the criminal, while trying to justify,
my every motive when your the only intention
that's got me going wrong.
& this wine that stains my lips, is a word I've never known,
but you'd still call it beautiful, once the veils been ripped off.
Because your love seems so blind
(& you still can't see a thing.)