On an evening
after news like that
I can hardly tell what mood you're in
or keep track of what time it is.
Between photo opportunities
and ATM disaster scenes,
your secret's safe with me.
But, you're blacked out,
you're blacked out
from what you know.
How will you get home?
Take me by the wrist.
Singing songs I've sang before,
liquid inebriation
spilling onto the Khyber's floor;
you've saved your last dance for me.
The best left over
from the roughest week.
But, you're blacked out,
you're blacked out
from what you know.
How will you get home?
x2