A Lounge Pianist In D Major

I've got a picture in my bedroom drawer
and I take it out just once a year
to prove to you I was alive before

I've got a flask inside my pocket
and I'll drink it if I want to
I don't need a hand to make me feel secure

but it's alright, I'm not asking for no faith
just leave me alone and I'll try to do the same
and it's alright, I just like the way you look at me
So God help me if I can't make that change

I've got a song I've sung about fifty times
but I keep slurring every other line
I say it's what keeps me honest when I write

but I've got backwards way of thinking
where the blacks and whites all get reversed
some kind of symphonic-like plight I hold so dear

but it's alright, I'm not asking for no faith
just leave me alone and I'll try to do the same
and it's alright, I just like the way you look at me
So God help me if I can't make that change

your lips are a tragedy
a genocide in a cacophony
of a sound that's not quite pure
played by a sad singer in an old hotel
on a piano bench at the ballroom bar
it's the only tune he knows
and now he's drunk as hell as he hits the keys
a hint stale perfume and cheap whiskey
the sights begin to blurr
he said "it was a small mistake,
it was a small mistake,
it was a small mistake"
it was a catastrophe

but it's alright, I'm not asking for no faith
just leave me alone and I'll try to do the same
and it's alright I just like the way you look at me
so God help me if I can't make that change

so I'll keep my eyes on yours if you keep yours on mine