As soon as you’re born you start dying. So you might as well have a good time.
It’s coming down. It’s coming down, It’s coming down. It’s raining outside. You’ve nowhere to hide. She’s asking you, why you think it’s funny.
Every shiny toy that at first brings you joy will always start to cloy and annoy.
Every camera every phone all the music that you own won’t change the fact you’re all alone.
Reluctantly crouched at the starting line.
Engines pumping and thumping in time.
The green light flashes, the flags go up.
Churning and burning, they yearn for the cup.
You think she’s an open book.
But you don’t know which page to turn to, do you?
