A stinking sun burned me awake,
Through the shattered windowpane,
I recalled through the eyes of claret red,
He had taken me again.
And the hair of the dog revives me,
But I find it hard to swallow,
It's a marriage of convenience between me and the bottle.

A thousand words drift through my hands,
In the room just bends,
This sodden mattress holds my heart,
And he cradles my regret.
I'll read it once again,
Though she knows that I'll not follow.
It's a marriage made in heaven between me and the bottle.

So king alcohol comes back,
With the traffic's mournful cry.
And he swaggers, drunk and skinful,
Through my throat all parched and dry.
And if I should die before I wake,
I pray the lord my soul to take.
Then I could rest,
And never wake again in sorrow.
And if I should die before I wake,
I pray the lord my soul to take.
Then I could rest,
And never wake again in sorrow.
It's a marriage on the rocks between me and the bottle.