| Moved all my shit into my parent’s basement
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| And out of our old apartment
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| And I know things changed
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| But I’m not sure when
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| I guess you’d call this regression
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| I left a real job and a girlfriend
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| Convinced myself that I’m brave enough for all of this, well
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| I spent a whole year in airports
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| And the floor feels like home
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| Oh, at least we’re never alone
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| I lost track of the time zones, I’d call but you know, oh
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| I’m running on empty
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| And the late nights and the long drives start to get to me
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| I’m just so tired
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| I spent this year as a ghost
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| And I’m not sure what I’m looking for
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| A voice on a phone that you rarely answer anymore
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| I came in here alone, came in here alone
|
| (But that doesn’t scare me like it did seven months ago)
|
| I spent this year as a ghost
|
| And I’m not sure where home is anymore
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| Been on a steady fast food diet
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| Like we’re this generation’s
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| Morgan Spurlock but we don’t admit defeat
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| My body feels rejected
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| I can’t say that I blame it
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| My heart keeps saying stay young
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| My lower back seems to disagree
|
| Unrolled a cheap cotton blanket
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| On an old dirty couch, oh
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| I felt the year start to wind down
|
| Can’t stand any dead space, empty beds bum me out, oh
|
| I spent this year as a ghost
|
| And I’m not sure what I’m looking for
|
| A voice on a phone that you rarely answer anymore
|
| I came in here alone, came in here alone
|
| (But that doesn’t scare me like it did seven months ago)
|
| I spent this year as a ghost
|
| And I’m not sure where home is anymore
|
| I came out swinging from a
|
| South Philly basement, caked in stale beer and sweat
|
| Under half-lit fluorescents and I
|
| Spent the winter writing songs about getting better
|
| And if I’m being honest, I’m getting there
|
| I came out swinging from a
|
| South Philly basement, caked in stale beer and sweat
|
| Under half-lit fluorescents and I
|
| Spent the winter writing songs about getting better
|
| And if I’m being honest, I’m getting there
|
| I came out swinging from a
|
| South Philly basement, caked in stale beer and sweat
|
| Under half-lit fluorescents and I
|
| Spent the winter writing songs about getting better
|
| Well, if I’m being honest, I’m getting there |