Enough of the old-times eyes
Enough of the same old reprise
So ugly
So tired
So bored
So true
I don't know what do with you
Now number three on the side has been giving me the eye
Like somehow I'm the one who's crossed the line
And you?
Your songs write themselves
And you?
You're no better
You know, this place will wear you down
Ain't much left to do but wait for some good news
You in the corner shaking just staring at your phone
Singing "I gotta get outta here. I gotta go home."
I'm trapped in a sea of debris
I am five
I am fifty
I am fifteen
She spins around and says "so, what's your theme?"
Says she wants to know what is it I mean
To maintain a distance I no longer occupy
The ongoing joke I continue to choke down
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