great, look at me, now i'm an emo songwriting bastard
the worst thing you could possibly do is start living in an airport bar. avoiding the pilots, not getting too far. and you're wearing sunglasses, but you're far from a star. 'cause icons and idols don't drive their own cars. but you're paying for parking by the hour, by the day. and rent's pretty cheap when you ain't paid it since may. when you're haunting the terminal the pain kinda fades. and you can get what you need from the guy with the shades who's just hanging out in the basement of the parking complex looking for drifters who just wanna get wrecked. and like it or not, though you're trying your best, you're just that guy in the airport bar, a permanent guest.
all the gin in the world can't dull the roar of engines, propellers, people waiting to board. all the chatter is pointless, every word is a chore. and you're waiting around, just looking to score with dealers or dropouts, with pushers or pears. you're desperate for something, you don't even care if it's getting high, getting laid, or just getting somewhere. and you're hoping the chick in the back's getting drunk, and maybe she'd like some of that stuff in your trunk. but don't kid yourself, kid, you're not exactly a catch. and to think that you are is a bit of a stretch. girls may dig tragedies but you don't fit the bill, 'cause prerequisite greatness is part of the drill. and there ain't nothing noble about what you do. the aesthetics of airports ain't nothing new. 'cause no matter the angle, no matter the view, all it is, really, is people trying to move. but you're stuck. you're in stasis. there's nothing out west. you're just that guy in the airport bar, a permanent guest.
all the gin in the world can't dull the roar of engines, propellers, people waiting to board. all the chatter is pointless, every word is a chore. and you're waiting around, just looking to score with dealers or dropouts, with pushers or pears. you're desperate for something, you don't even care if it's getting high, getting laid, or just getting somewhere. and you're hoping the chick in the back's getting drunk, and maybe she'd like some of that stuff in your trunk. but don't kid yourself, kid, you're not exactly a catch. and to think that you are is a bit of a stretch. girls may dig tragedies but you don't fit the bill, 'cause prerequisite greatness is part of the drill. and there ain't nothing noble about what you do. the aesthetics of airports ain't nothing new. 'cause no matter the angle, no matter the view, all it is, really, is people trying to move. but you're stuck. you're in stasis. there's nothing out west. you're just that guy in the airport bar, a permanent guest.