Where did you go when I wrung out my heart?
Into your morning glass I squeezed its truth:
The sacred orange liquid of the fruit
that Love grew from these limbs, my tree of life.
I'm off'ring this delicious, healthy juice;
it's nourishing, refreshing, and it's free
of all the hated side effects you fear.

But still you grab for that fermented drink--
addiction pulls you back to get your buzz--
and your expensive habit keeps you numb.

Please don't miss Sunrise in that dizzy smog.
This strength, this joy, this freedom is no sin,
this peaceful lack of hangover, no crime.

Don't listen to those voices telling lies
that this time will be diff'rent; it won't ache.
The same drink always has the same effect:
You'll wake up clutching porcelain on the floor,
your pounding head hung over a dark hole.

When your reflection in that toilet bowl
reminds you of a man whom you once knew
who once saw his reflection in a lake
one early morning through the misty spray,
encircled by a rainbow quiet dawn,
remember Heaven isn't far away--
know you can walk on water yet today;
taste freshness on your lips and tongue, a prayer--
remember there's a drink to take you there.