I was going to lie and steal my way to the stars. I was going to do it from the front seat of your unregistered car. I was going to pull my blindfold over everyone, I was going to find a way of making you fall for me when I was done, but I'm not that young and I'm not that dumb anymore
Always holding hands under the table, with a keen eye for whoever's more available. Dotted your signatures with love hearts on every little note, left the first name blank in case someone caught your eye while you wrote. And it's taken me this long to think with anything but your hips. And I always hated the taste of your pushy, drunken, alcoholic, ashtray lips
But the city gets pretty for those few hours where the trains aren't running. And I'm knocking down my door in advance. Because the wolves are coming
And you pity me on the corner of Johnston and Brunswick, singing my heart out for loose change with my acoustic, spending rainy days indoors trying to turn other people's protest songs into 'beautiful music.' And I'm haunted by the ghosts of my more famous friends. I spend every season complaining waiting for the season to end. I like to think that I'm encompassing but I'm always getting comfortable. You never gave me twenty minutes just to catch my breath. You were kissing me or f****** someone else
I'm not coming back to the bars we used to drink at or the drinks we used to sleep or the people we used to drink with who become the people that we used. Ever since you said you saw a mouse in my house, every single time I get high I see mice and the people that we used to drink with became the people that we used
I think I hear the wolves coming
Always holding hands under the table, with a keen eye for whoever's more available. Dotted your signatures with love hearts on every little note, left the first name blank in case someone caught your eye while you wrote. And it's taken me this long to think with anything but your hips. And I always hated the taste of your pushy, drunken, alcoholic, ashtray lips
But the city gets pretty for those few hours where the trains aren't running. And I'm knocking down my door in advance. Because the wolves are coming
And you pity me on the corner of Johnston and Brunswick, singing my heart out for loose change with my acoustic, spending rainy days indoors trying to turn other people's protest songs into 'beautiful music.' And I'm haunted by the ghosts of my more famous friends. I spend every season complaining waiting for the season to end. I like to think that I'm encompassing but I'm always getting comfortable. You never gave me twenty minutes just to catch my breath. You were kissing me or f****** someone else
I'm not coming back to the bars we used to drink at or the drinks we used to sleep or the people we used to drink with who become the people that we used. Ever since you said you saw a mouse in my house, every single time I get high I see mice and the people that we used to drink with became the people that we used
I think I hear the wolves coming