| You called out my bullshit
|
| And in the same
|
| I couldn’t help but choke too
|
| And it meant I exaggerated
|
| Won’t always be like this
|
| But the first six weeks
|
| Made me feel, made me feel
|
| I’m not a
|
| How can I be in the moment
|
| When I’m dreading in the end of it?
|
| Something about how you swim
|
| Was elegant and self-assured
|
| And you took the legs from under me
|
| And you daydreams
|
| If now’s not a good time
|
| Then bury in last July
|
| Oh-oh-oh-oh
|
| I never felt so illiterate
|
| The scent of this foreign place
|
| They need to speak your language
|
| Staring at sorry
|
| the last time I get sensationalized
|
| And when I’ve been every step, real type
|
| I don’t wanna become just another place
|
| That you went one time
|
| I don’t wanna be a souvenir
|
| And I don’t wanna be a Polaroid
|
| I wanna buy your groceries
|
| I wanna tell you all my weird theories
|
| And you’ll take the legs from under me
|
| And you’ll curate all of my fever dreams
|
| It’s just never a good time
|
| Just bury me in last July
|
| Let me know when you figure it out
|
| Let me know when you figure it out |