| Isn’t it weird how all the years spent hating this place
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| Ultimately lead us back to the same block?
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| And I’m ashamed of the effort I put in
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| To look like every other dope in this coffee shop
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| I guess you could call it a symptom
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| Of this problem we have called growing up
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| «I'm sorry sir, we’ve got some bad news for you:
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| I don’t think we caught this one early enough»
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| And my dreams about my hair falling out
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| Well, they’re starting to come true
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| And the seams that held my thought process together
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| Well, they’re starting to undo
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| So you can send me out to pasture
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| You’ll find me at a bar or a post-rock/garage-rock show
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| Because I need to get to sleep a little faster
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| To forget about all the people that I used to know
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| And all the friends that I thought I’d miss so much
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| Are the ones that don’t ask when I’m around or not
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| And all the cool times that I thought we used to have
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| Just amount to smoking dope in the parking lot
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| I guess you could call it a symptom of thinking you had more than you do now
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| I don’t think I want to catch up sometime
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| I’m happy where we are now
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| And sometimes I run my fingers through my hair, and none of it falls out
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| And I think I’m in the process of learning what being young’s about
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| So I don’t think I’m headed for disaster
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| In fact, I think I’m leaving it behind
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| Because I’m way smarter than I was last year
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| So don’t ask me how I’m doing, because I’m doing fine |