October, really?
Lately I've been feeling fine
But drinking like I wanna die
I've got all these thoughts in me
Just wish I had a song to sing
And sitting still just makes my head spin
With idle thoughts and mixed emotions
I think I need a change in this town. The same old scenery just ain't doing what it used to for me. I think I need these nights to mean something, but I just can't find the metaphor. Lately it's just creative moods without a muse. Nostalgia and nonchalance. Passion and apathy. All packed into one indecisive suitcase that I carry with me from city to city and keep under the bed in my empty room. I want to see those kids singing back with me. Those words once meant something other than a memory. I guess it's just not the season. Self-fulfilling prophecy. But maybe when we fall into autumn, all that is fleeting will already be gone. And replaced by something solid I can feel in my chest. The void filled so I can find my voice again. Singing all the old songs will only get you through so many new days. "Keep searching for a new tune, something's gonna find you," they all say... they all say. But who are they anyway?
Is my phone dead or disconnected?
Are my dreams gone or just forgotten?
Is love real or a lost imaginary friend?
Why do all of my questions lack a finite response?
"The cold is coming. The cold is coming in."
But drinking like I wanna die
I've got all these thoughts in me
Just wish I had a song to sing
And sitting still just makes my head spin
With idle thoughts and mixed emotions
I think I need a change in this town. The same old scenery just ain't doing what it used to for me. I think I need these nights to mean something, but I just can't find the metaphor. Lately it's just creative moods without a muse. Nostalgia and nonchalance. Passion and apathy. All packed into one indecisive suitcase that I carry with me from city to city and keep under the bed in my empty room. I want to see those kids singing back with me. Those words once meant something other than a memory. I guess it's just not the season. Self-fulfilling prophecy. But maybe when we fall into autumn, all that is fleeting will already be gone. And replaced by something solid I can feel in my chest. The void filled so I can find my voice again. Singing all the old songs will only get you through so many new days. "Keep searching for a new tune, something's gonna find you," they all say... they all say. But who are they anyway?
Is my phone dead or disconnected?
Are my dreams gone or just forgotten?
Is love real or a lost imaginary friend?
Why do all of my questions lack a finite response?
"The cold is coming. The cold is coming in."