The Art Of Falling Short

When you got the phone call your pretty face changes like the wind
You fist clenched tightly as you felt your heart begin to sink
Your eyes met mine and you said that you have got to go
We jumped in your car and we drove, yeah we drove, we fucking drove

We picked your father up from the cell where he was kept
His bloody knuckles dragged through your hair as he wept
His whisky breath whispered loud and clear in your head
Your mother would never have come, I love you so much my darling girl

I cannot hold myself responsible for the things that I have done
I've blamed the bottle for my mistakes me entire adult life
You are all that I have loved