| I think you’ve had enough to handle
|
| And I can see it in your smile
|
| It’s become a function over fashion
|
| As if satisfaction’s going out of style
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh)
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh)
|
| It’s just a blessing of reception
|
| And I see sorrow in your eyes
|
| Oh like the candidate for caution
|
| Crossing your sentimental lines
|
| And if it’s okay, could I stay a while?
|
| Color-coded, a calming hue
|
| The walls are barren, they’re just like you
|
| Hardly motivated, a destitute design
|
| Upstate blues they could paint this room
|
| Cold and grey like New York and you
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh)
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh)
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh-oh)
|
| I didn’t want to stay here
|
| But you couldn’t wait to leave
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh)
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh)
|
| A whole community of people never sleeping, only drinking it alone
|
| They soak their twenties into tens
|
| It’s like their twenties never end
|
| Upstate blues they could paint this room
|
| Cold and grey like New York and you
|
| I survey the scene, I see
|
| If misery loves company than what does that make me?
|
| Dusting for prints here
|
| And chasing the names of your friends who’ve escaped you
|
| I’ve begged you to leave Niagara
|
| It makes headstones
|
| Turn all the tricks beneath your sleeves
|
| You’ve become what you’ve always feared
|
| Even though this all seems absurd to hear
|
| But I couldn’t follow through
|
| Upstate blues they will paint your room
|
| Cold and grey like New York and you
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh)
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh)
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh)
|
| (Whoa oh, whoa oh) |