Sunday morning, and I feel sorry about the pieces of me that I left at your house. Down on luck, my mind was anxious and you made me face it with your lips on my neck and a taste from the bottle. I’ve got this funny feeling that you’ve got this funny feeling as I watch you dance above me. Wait. You could be my best mistake that I’ve just been dying to make. And when the fireworks faded, I can’t believe I ever contemplated... You’ve got me tired and tied up. You’re my best mistake. Monday morning, a lot less boring when you trace over my tattoos with your finger. We got drunk and I felt stupid but you helped me through it. Goddamn, you’re tearing me apart. I’m not trying to get you off my chest. I’ll let delusion rest in my mind. I’m not trying to get you off my chest; it’s where you lay best in my mind. You’re my best mistake and I finally made it.