You twenty-nine year panic attack.
You’re not the fashionable kind.
The kind where you wake up and say,
Man I just want to survive.
But this world is short on empathy.
You got out of your parent’s place,
Started making money,
Crashed your car and now they want your laces.
And they gave you just enough
To make you feel like you fucked up
When you realized you couldn’t keep yourself clean.
Kid you’re not half bad.
Could even be more than your dad.
So why’re you complaining
If they’re not listening?
We’re just so fucking tired
Of explaining ourselves.
We throw a pill down our throats,
Or ourselves into in the ocean.
Cause half our friends are dead.
The other half are depressed.
In this budget rate life
The borderline’s looking thin.
Driving out into the water
Because you took that leap of faith.
All I see is you floating
So I turn my stereo up.
Living bender to bender.
I only saw you when we were high.
You’re finally touching down
And I’m folding.
You said enough is not enough
Always feel like you fucked up.
So what’s the point of keeping yourself in line?
They won’t name you in the papers.
I see you out past the breakers.
That same smile you’ve had since you were five.
I know that life is long enough.
Didn’t think you’d speed it up.
Feel selfish that we still want you alive.
The memorial wasn’t bad.
Some people tried to understand.
Thought you were complaining.
But we weren’t listening.
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