This is one of my favorite songs. https://fnfgo.io
i was born a long way from where i'm supposed to be
so now i'm on my way home.
and I'm going to get myself some help.
i've got some places to be and oh am i on my way,
but i've driven too far to only be here.
it must have been those stops, those self-important grandeur delusions,
higher than a georgia pine and sure to end on a one-way street a mile and a half from the nearest lamppost
like someone i'd like to read about.
that's all they are, the pills and powders: just grown-up grade-school glory,
thrilling in movies about your life that no one will ever make,
less glamorous every night behind a door locked all alone.
i can't talk like i used to: it's always on the tip of my tongue, never your ear.
but hell, we all wrote dramatically in college, right?
so i stay a steady course: list my greatest accomplishments on a cocktail napkin, my greatest failures on my thumb;
but arteries still race out of my pupils like thin red lightning bolts.
i'm knowing less of importance, and more of basements and bathrooms.
and of you: all of you, all too well.
meet me tonight down by the water; at the end of 7th there are less lights.
i've said too much: i don't want to worry you or kill the mystic and me.
there are no movies with self-referential narrators predicting a fall from grace.
my shirts keep getting smaller, my tattoos bigger, same narcissism on my insides and out.
what am i trying to prove with permanence or lack thereof?
i only say 'these are the times to remember' when i want to forget.
no more wordplay, i cannot be any clearer.
i am talking about something that's all glamour and cut out magazines when it's over
and all awkward silence when i'm screaming to you right now:
so now i'm on my way home.
and I'm going to get myself some help.
i've got some places to be and oh am i on my way,
but i've driven too far to only be here.
it must have been those stops, those self-important grandeur delusions,
higher than a georgia pine and sure to end on a one-way street a mile and a half from the nearest lamppost
like someone i'd like to read about.
that's all they are, the pills and powders: just grown-up grade-school glory,
thrilling in movies about your life that no one will ever make,
less glamorous every night behind a door locked all alone.
i can't talk like i used to: it's always on the tip of my tongue, never your ear.
but hell, we all wrote dramatically in college, right?
so i stay a steady course: list my greatest accomplishments on a cocktail napkin, my greatest failures on my thumb;
but arteries still race out of my pupils like thin red lightning bolts.
i'm knowing less of importance, and more of basements and bathrooms.
and of you: all of you, all too well.
meet me tonight down by the water; at the end of 7th there are less lights.
i've said too much: i don't want to worry you or kill the mystic and me.
there are no movies with self-referential narrators predicting a fall from grace.
my shirts keep getting smaller, my tattoos bigger, same narcissism on my insides and out.
what am i trying to prove with permanence or lack thereof?
i only say 'these are the times to remember' when i want to forget.
no more wordplay, i cannot be any clearer.
i am talking about something that's all glamour and cut out magazines when it's over
and all awkward silence when i'm screaming to you right now:
Lyrics submitted by zero76464
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