so complicated to explaine why these feelings faded please pass some sanity, saint of mediocrity and keep me out of my sobriety 14 and 23, bridge and tunnel
In later hours when the packed bars start spitting cowards They're picking scars cell phones clenched along, along the sidewalk They usually stay out of our way the bridge and tunnel
So here's a sale to sooth recession and an ad campaign to calm the credit crisis. At five A.M. the doors broke open and then a man lay dying on the sales
on the desk, Erase it and write it again. I don't blame you. I have trouble paying attention too. Scribble my head with horns, a bad suit, and a face
All my friends are into liquid trends, when they drink what they can and they pretend to dance. When the volume's up, and the lights go down, and the
trust and deliver what you say. A word of mouth pledge you take to your grave. Care about more than the just your own gains. Buy and sell your lives
to where you begin. If you can hear me, I'll catch you up quickly. And if you're with me, just grab my hand and sing, We will not be told where to hang
in Ole' New York.? Well if that's the case, then this is the biggest fucking pothole I have ever seen. We're all so stubborn, anxious, and detached. And
Let's all hang our heads in light of the recent events, with temperatures set. And we can try To ignore this great white elephant, A fine representative
of relief as the gas prices go down, And turn our headphones up to ignore the wrecking ball sound. You got damn damn good at sleeping with the lights on, And
teeth." We're so over dramatic, so stick this knife in my side just to spite my heart. And it's so post-traumatic. This funeral party is dead, and we
, But the stillness of these rooms keeps our voices tucked away. And the scarceness of sunlight and the glow of the TV keeps the sentiment in short supply. And
So hold, hold on to all the nights that make us feel we belong. I know, I know the punch clock doesn't chime, it tolls. Prolong, prolong all the time
This town is falling, but the papers say it's "up and coming." And when it gets here who is left? Just another college party in the new "cool part of
back, they would join me in accord, because I've been saying the same thing for years now, "things are going to have to change in the morning." Charmed and
to the table. We're airing our grievances boldly. Oh the privilege of a post-college crisis and the subsequent traveling. Next year's concessions set in revelry and
, and pry my pretext off this page. The ink on my fingers will speak to every lost hope, every last defeat. Sweet dreams lay beneath hours of desperate thoughts and
to remind us that there's a war on. It shouldn't take a song For us to come together and scream That "We're still here and we're still pissed." Remember
