Vintage

 

My poxy house is full of knick-knacks
People who come say I lack taste
They look up to the ceiling, see the cracks
Yes, I’ve a bad name, I’m disgraced

They see on the floor my dirty socks
Something they didn’t expect
They hadn’t come around here for shocks
Won’t be long before they disconnect

Those slinging mud make sure it sticks
With their hate and spite, they come on strong
But there’s repercussions no-one predicts
At a place and a time that are wrong

Abandon all hope for those who enter
This is not a guided tour
But I will show them the wine cellar
And the vintage bones to explore

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