Cuts - For This Reason

Thoughts of suicide do not leave me like alcoholic parties until the morning
Got up, drank, went to bed and everything went in a circle as always
And when all the money runs out again
I'll take my guitar and play the streets endlessly
Every clink of coins makes you play harder and harder
Taking the guitar and walking away, you will briefly remember it
For the sake of the one who started playing
The painfully familiar smell of cigarettes and alcohol
Your memories will be erased in an instant like the smell of cigarettes
Passing by the street where you were beaten
And now they're beating someone else and you'll pass by without even looking back.