Jennifer Rostock U.S.
Flaschendrehen

Some parents would rather
we not write any songs about
firing away Saturday night, but, oops, it’s happening again

Nobody here is a loser
the entire bar full of runners-up
the clouds stay gray, only the rims under our eyes turn purple

You are what you eat; I am what I drink
bring it, tip the drinks with the left hand ’til I sink
a thousand flamingos and the sky is pink
now they’re stealing from themselves, it’s a thing

We’re adrift, we arrive
somehow somewhere sometime
like little fish that slip through the cracks in the night
we’re drowning at the the bar until the bottles spin

We’re crashing, we’re scoring
but somehow, somewhere, sometime
it means: footing the bill, count the ashes in the bag
we’re drowning at the the bar until the bottles spin

Look into the glass and look even deeper
when you’re thirsty, you turn into a diva
the counter becomes a confessional, everyone kneels down sometime

Wounds require salt, my darling
and lemon and tequila
we don’t give a fuck anymore – like the Virgin Mary

You are what you eat; I am what I drink
bring it, tip the drinks with the left hand ’til I sink
it feels like somebody put something in my drink
now they’re stealing from Ramones, it’s a thing

We’re adrift, we arrive …