It feels like I'm racing parked cars
And it feels like we're tied at the finish line
And if I'm movin' at all
Can't be movin' fast
And I'm nostalgic for those things I didn't like
In the past

The sad songs will just keep you sad
That mythic time significance I'd never understand
But it haunts me like the ghost
Of those endless cups of coffee
I've always been one joke behind
I'm done catching up

We're not yet the broken, tired husks of men
No, our minds are still healthy, our bodies still strong
And our hands are still young
As our fingers need blisters
Let's stop singin' about our failures
And start acting like our mothers

Really think we could be
What they think we could do
'Cause it's probably true
Yes, it's probably true

My yellow and red seminary
My little Spanish holy city
Well, I've seen its seedy underbelly
I've packed my bags
I'm getting ready
I've packed my bags and I now I'm singing

I'm singing, looks to me that you want to start movin'
Been standing here for months
I'm looking to just get going
Let's write our sandbags of ideas
Bracing new directions
Find connections
Leave our shitty jobs
That fucking workplace
Try to find some energy
To move us once again

Looks to me that you want to start movin'
Been standing here for months
I'm looking to just get going
Let's write our sandbags of ideas
Bracing new directions
Find connections
Leave our shitty jobs
That fucking workplace
Try to find some energy
To move us once again


Lyrics submitted by RevBabyBear

Phil Writes Songs Like Kevin Seconds, He Can't Help It song meanings
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