do you remember that night at Kelly's house all your friends were burnt out man; every reason that you made up on the spot to leave this town, to leave that house and i don't think that you could make me as happy as i've already made you. there's no reason to stay best friends past december. there's no reason to put your self back together. there's no reason to stay best friends past december. there's no reason to hold your self all together now. i've been watching every movie that you said but i don't see what you like in him. i've been writing down every word i think but i don't think that i think anything that matters anymore. but I've been feeling better than you ever did. Woo

you’re 35 and still dressing up for all the shows. you got some money to spare and you’re hoping it doesn’t show. you’re like kramer: you’re a grown assman. you’re stage diving onto college kids and 2stepping to metal bands. i get it: we’ve all got our 5 year plans. all our shit when up in spaceships. i get it: we’ve all got our 5 year plans.

beach party cruising blues. i’m sharing spit with you. stand up and fall into beach party cruising blues. look down and waste my time; my head is heavy tonight. i got a lot on my mind. look down and waste my time. but that’s not punk. take off your clothes, show your muscles. tell everyone their music blows. hit all the kids at the shows. take off your clothes, show your mussels. fill your bands full of boys, play the songs no one knows, let your neighbor cut your lawn. but that’s not punk.

we’re not Above the Law. we’re not Public Enemies. we’re No one Against Society. i hear you in my De La Soul, but i don’t have the Will Smith to take you home. i just stole land from your Tribe Called Quest. we’re the 1% singing Outkast. i sniff gasoline when i sleep. my people use Clan unironically.

when you left my house i felt alright. the evening was fine. sun on my back. we were parting paths, my school in sight. i lost myself in the months that follow. i saw your face in other peoples’ face. sunbathing on my raft at sea. sunglasses black out the sharks around me. i’m sunburnt no one can touch me. come christmas break i saw you again, it was my mistake. suicide pact with our ring fingers. ‘till death will i stay. later that year i took my promise back. turns out that i’d leave so much sooner than that. littlest shark says to the big shark, “how do we get ourselves in these situations killing cops and causing panic?” big shark turns around goes, “you’re the brainiac, just figure it out man. it’s what we’ve done, what we’re doing, what we’re gonna do. sunbathing on my roof in the nude. sunglasses black out the flames around me. i’m burning, someone please touch me.

you are my everything: my black spaceship crashing into the sun. i know i sound pretty pathetic, but some of us don’t have college to look forward to. i don’t belong here with all these people and their friends. i don’t belong here, i am listening to Wrens. someday i’ll find myself back at home. yeah i’m a loser but i’m calling you. you say to me through the phone “didn’t you go to school?” i said i did but i didn’t like it as much as i like you. aren’t you impressed? aren’t i impressive? let’s get bold, let’s get nervous, let’s get happy, let’s get curtis, let’s make our way down to the quarry and dance until someone can’t see, let’s pretend that the hostages in that video are all laughing at me, let’s pretend that your parents aren’t separated; they’re just playing strangers at the hotel bar and this time it goes too far. i don’t belong here, i am listening to Wrens. someday i’ll find myself back at home. yeah i’m a loser but i’m calling you. you say to me through the phone “didn’t you go to jail?” i said i did but i didn’t like it as much as i like you. aren’t you impressed? aren’t i impressive? i used to think about my words before they left my mouth. my dad said when i was young that i was an arrogant son of a gun and Charles E. Bukowski would be proud. sometimes i want you to want to kiss as much as i do, but i don’t expect you to return. i want you in my life.

if i could go back to the day of me and my mom watching what not to wear we’d laugh at ourselves, the things that we wear. but i’m stuck in here with all my friends. we have nothing to do and we don’t know where this ends. this american life, portastatic in the middle. you know that you are the one that i love.

i got a laundry list of problems that i am not dealing with right now. but i swear to you that i will solve them when i am older. but for not i will let them simmer right there on the back burner. what’s this? why is this not my bed? what’s this? why are you not my wife? what’s this? why is my house on fire? who left the oven on? i’ve been home for a good solid month now and i still don’t have a job and all these empty days are beginning to feel like hell. i know that God provides all that i need but i don’t think he knows me that well. i need a 10cylinder production car. i need to do something that gets the cops on my tail like rob a bank or hit a cop car. i wanna touch you. i wanna spend my days watching happy days with my family. i wanna think about all these happy days spent at home. who left the tv on? do you ever have one of those dreams where you’re drowning but it’s kinda nice and you wake up in the bathtub? who left the water on?

wanna wake up in the desert. i romanticize the trucker life. red clay rock formations. now that you’re gone i don’t think straight, i’ll drive north, atlantic ice, where all your friends are dead. i’m headed west, route 66 and an old cassette when the stones play on the radio and if i forget, i try to forget, but the highway’s a memory strip for the potbelly pig nation. your baby’s at home with someone else but it’s better than sleeping alone. hit a diner, find a waitress, get the shakes out, praise the goddess of midwest country roads. they’re Godforsaken, He couldn’t hide here. there’s too much flatland, you start to fear that john denver will live again. your baby’s at home with someone else but it’s better than smoking alone. you’ve been on the road for 4 straight months. what’s better than smoking alone? nothing’s better than smoking alone. red arizona. north of the border. you know you’re gonna die in the desert.

it is sunday in the afternoon and my mom is making wipe down the sliding glass doors. i wipe off the last of the residue and i look out over the golf course. i am thinking about my family up in buffalo and how they’re just waiting for the snow to melt. it’s an unchanging world that you and i live in but i’m a young man so i must be moving on. there is something quite uncomfortable about living so far south. it’s just that nothing ever changes and no one ever teaches their kids to put the snow directly into their mouth. i know that i sound quite ungrateful for what i’ve been given but you must understand that i am a man, can’t understand the plan, my lifespan. there is something quite uncomfortable about living so far south. it’s just that nothing ever changes and no one ever teaches their kids to put the snow directly into their house. i hear you in the bathroom and you are not alone. i’m an 18wheeler, i’m the georgia rambler. i get my kicks off of living by the plans that you fucked up again. i’m an 18wheeler, i’m a 49er. i get my kicks off of living off the land that you fucked up again.

it’s a long drive to pittsburgh, a long time to get an answer, a lot of time spent in motion, a lot of time to get the ocean clear my head hope you turn up instead. i know you’re not proud of the things that you destroy, but you should be proud of me. how could we be anything else than skinny kids with skinny hearts? i talk too much for my own good. we’ve been cold for so long. how could we fall so far out of love? i know you’re not proud of the things that you destroy, but you should be proud of me.