The Well

Oh lord, save me from myself
This bottle's looking mighty fine
And her smile and her cigarette
Make me wish I was young again
She's leaning in and I know
That I
Can take her home
Somehow the thought of you makes me
Stop myself
And lord, save me from myself
Till they want you to
And lord, if these are your children
Why don't they look like you?
And I read somewhere
That what you've done in the least of east
You have done to me
But I'd rather drown my soul
Than feed it to the wolves I've seen
So I'll stare down the bottom of this glass
Till I forget her
I'll stare down the bottom of this glass
Till she's gone
Yeah, I'll stare down the bottom of this glass
Till I forget her
Yeah, I'll stare down the bottom of this glass
Till she's gone
Till she's gone
Till the well runs dry
Till the well runs dry
Till the well runs dry