Not My Medicine

I’ve said it before: No, I’m not the cure.

I’m not the pill you swallow 

when you’re bleeding on the floor.

I’ve carried you on my back,

but my spine’s starting to crack.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry for that.

You don’t know what I am apart from you.

Have you ever looked at it from my point of view?

It’s not what you think, 

not a dollar in your cup.

It’s not what you think 

when you’re close to giving up.

The ice clinks in your glass,

we’ll see who sips it last.

You like it straight to bottom fast.

And if I go away, I don’t think that you could stay. 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you’d say.

You don’t know what I am apart from you.

Have you ever looked at it from my point of view?

It’s not what you think, 

not a dollar in your cup.

It’s not what you think 

when you’re close to giving up.

You don’t know what I am apart from you.

Have you ever looked at it from my point of view?

It’s not what you think, 

not a dollar in your cup.

It’s not what you think 

when you’re close to giving up.

Giving up….