Well I haven't paid rent for a month or more
|
I'm couch surfing
|
And I don't have a key cause I don't have a door
|
I'm couch surfing
|
I'm not answering questions
|
I'm between houses
|
|
Of my material possessions I've lost track
|
I didn't need them
|
Everything I need fits in my backpack
|
I call it freedom
|
A pair of jeans some shirts and a guitar lead
|
A toothbrush, socks and a paperback reader
|
All the rest is what's hanging off of me
|
|
And I'm not taking calls
|
I'm between houses
|
|
Outside the night is dark and stormy
|
And you blew up the air mattress for me
|
We'll talk all night like an open book
|
And I'll sleep on every breath you took
|
Before you leave I'll sneak a look up at you
|
|
But there's an old saying that could bare retelling
|
When you're couch surfing:
|
'the guest should leave before the fish starts smelling'
|
When your couch surfing
|
|
It's romantically existential
|
To reduce your life to the bare essential
|
All that which is inconsequential guides me
|
|
But this whole theory really depends
|
On weather or not you've got good friends
|
And all this weightlessness the philosopher preach
|
Reduces you to societies leach
|
But tonight I've landed on my feet
|
I'm still one friend away from the bum on the street
|
And I've used up all my good will vouchers
|
On every single friend with couches
|
It won't be long before they'll ask me to leave
|
It's time I cut myself some keys
|
Give me a pen I'll sign a lease and go get me a home
|
|
-----------------
|
Couch Surfing
|
Darren Hanlon |