And I drove all the way home listening to the Gaslight Anthem.
And thinking how I can't stop letting people down, I'm surely not as cool as I was back in school.
I'm on the 101 falling asleep, I got the letters that you wrote for me.
Now here I am under golden arches, car in park, teary eyed, Mcgriddle in hand.
My mind's a slow device, I like to picture life somewhat like a Rockwell painting,
but great expectations just blister the paint.
And I just wanna drink chocolate milk with my lovely, I just wanna burn this apartment.
And I just wanna float through my life merely dreaming at any given mention of the government.
So I drive, heavy eyed, repeating "tramps like us were born to run", but I've got no one to run with.
And I'm cold, so I've been told that I should greet the sun and get shit done.
I think I'd rather just sleep in.
Cause we're all just twenty five words in the obituary section.
And every day is just the passing of time, I think they call this depression.
I'm not lonely, just kind of overwhelmed again.
Cause I'm living proof you can still sing the blues in 2011.