| Giving up is where we start |
| Our mansion is a trailer park |
| And I can feel it in my gut |
| All of this ending will be tough |
| I know what you’re saying but I don’t know what to do |
| I’ll admit I worry, we need you to pull though |
| This can’t be everything you are |
| My identity, my struggle and my scars |
| There’s still a message, wack and blight |
| I can see the marquee |
| «Only a fortnight» |
| All of our photos gather dust |
| The poorman’s painting, bumper-stickers rich in rust |
| You don’t have to reinvent the wheel or your world |
| It doesn’t have to be precious as a pearl |
| It’s fundamental, simple and slight |
| Still I can read the marquee |
| «Only two nights» |
| Accolades and souvenirs |
| Yesterday’s bold frontier |
| Glimmering from past review |
| The things we hold on to |
| You fail to see the greatness in yourself as we all do |
| A blinding flash of light is not the act that defines you |
| The poetry for you shipmates drowning with their crew |
| The world you translate from the wreckage we cannot bear to lose |
| We should always have something to look foward to |
| It’s all about the simple things, effortless and new |
| Don’t let the words define you |
| «Only one night» |