i wake up and roll out of my bed with the thoughts i can’t forget and the memory of when i was ambitious now if i were any less alive i’d be the ghost who’s floating by and i’m tired of living in a tomb the four walls of my room and the things i own a pile of problems that i’ve caused and clothes i never wash
under the bridge, with scorpios if my words are worthless then i’ve lost my purpose but did you lie like we were seventeen? the numbers in my pockets got all washed out in my jeans
and did you die when you were seventeen? the fire in his pocket met the fabric of the sheets i didn’t know, oh i was fast asleep if i could go back to that time you know that i’d give anything