I can't help myself
|
I keep ending up in Memorial Park
|
Breaking finger nails while I claw at the frozen ground
|
Because as long as I'm home
|
I can dig up these bones
|
There's no point to just letting go
|
And as long as you've known me I've been backing out slowly
|
I won't end up underneath the snow
|
|
This is where it's been
|
The manger scene every Christmas
|
Next to the cannon
|
Every year someone steals baby Jesus
|
Nobody stops them
|
It's a nice tradition
|
|
I'll put my life back together in silence
|
While writing songs on Molly's guitar
|
And Suburbia, stop pushing
|
I know what I'm doing
|
|
So I moved myself and two boxes of things
|
To the basement room at Richie's house
|
And I'm happy here for now
|
Because I've been in search of some steadier footing
|
Or just a place to call home
|
I know that I'm introspective when broken
|
But I've been spending most of my nights here alone
|
And that doesn't scare me like it did a year ago
|
|
I'll put my life back together in silence
|
While writing songs on Molly's guitar
|
And Suburbia, stop pushing
|
I know what I'm doing
|
Suburbia, stop pushing
|
I know what I'm doing
|
Suburbia, stop pushing
|
I know what I'm doing
|
|
I had dreams of myself
|
As the Allen Ginsberg of this generation
|
But without the talent, madness or vision
|
I guess it's looking hopeless
|
We're a city left digging out cars in unison
|
And humming like we've healed
|
I know we've got miles to go
|
But I'm putting my shoulder to the wheel
|
|
-----------------
|
And Now I'm Nothing
|
| The Wonder Years |
