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They come in different sizes.
Colours, shapes.
Different volumes, different tastes.
Red, white. Burgundy, amber.
A taste of any would make me a happy camper.
Or ruin my life
At the end of a knife.
These bottles are my addiction
Despite all manners of conviction
I still want it. I want that taste.
I want to savour all that I hate.

But promises made. Promises kept.
I did not drink whilst you slept.
I'm not sneaking around with my mistress of sin.
I will not drink. If I do, I will not win.
Cause and effect always at play.
Alcohol is my cause, and I won't pay.
I won't be my great grandfather.
I won't be like my own father.

Pinkie Swear.