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We were born night owls |
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The warm air makes our eyes glow |
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Summer makes our heads spin |
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And the smell of hot pavement |
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Making rain rise like spirits |
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Holy water still freezes come winter |
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We drink from the sprinklers |
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The neighborhood left on |
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And use them as metronomes |
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For our walk home |
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For our walk home |
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Just do what you can to do what you love |
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And be mindful when someone out there gives a shit |
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I don't where I'm going |
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But it's where I want to be |
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It's where I want to be |
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Passing by this school yard |
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There's a cavity you can't see |
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Down at least three feet deep |
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If it was our past inside of that box |
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I wouldn't just bury it beneath |
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I'd keep it locked |
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My Nativity scene would be the people sharing this floor |
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Instead of a care let's head through the downstairs door |
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Half renovated basements make great men |
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And they're great men |
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Just do what you can to do what you love |
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And be mindful when someone out there gives a shit |
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I don't where I'm going |
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But it's where I want to be |
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It's where I want to be |
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This place holds my attention like a presidential speech |
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But makes my stomach like the college campus |
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The first line was written on |
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Just do what you can to do what you love |
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And be mindful when someone out there gives a shit |
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I don't where I'm going |
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But it's where I want to be |
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It's where I want to be |
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It's where I want to be |
