One round, two rounds, three rounds, four.
Blood on the pavement, glass on the floor.
One round, two rounds, three rounds, four.
Would you care to stick around for more?
It shouldn’t be much that would bother me.
Smoke coming out their eyes, you’ll see.
It shouldn’t be much that would bother me.
I can’t see through these foggy streets.
Though in that direction, I do know
There to be a selection of snow
That is sure to cause you misdirection
Though what does it matter where you go?
Missed a step, or two, or three
Unbalanced, unsound, what better way to be.
Questionable things to eat and drink,
Have some insanity, it’s free if you clink!
Floppy ears on the lamp post, a vanishing smile.
A quaint little hat, red roses for miles.
Eyelashes flutter and blink, blink, blink.
These people, they’re not quite right.
Don’t you think?
“Well, they’re quite alright, if I do say so.
What is right anyhow, is it up? Is it no?”
Sense seemed so far, the madness so sweet.
Drink and relish, retch and repeat.
Though the dangers of insanity were often too clear.
“You can’t help that”, said the bottle, “we’re all mad here”.
Spinning off the wagon of a world full of malice,
In the dark, the bottle whispered,
“Welcome to Wonderland, Alice”.