Classic

I lose myself In beautiful things Does a butterfly die If you tear off its wings? It's not jealousy In the classical sense I'm black and blue Come tickle me pink The memories smile Lift me out of the drink It's not suffering In the classical sense The wildest extreme At seventeen Now it's a classic Now it's a classic Can't blink out the dust in my eyes I'm half alive Marooned in traffic Marooned in traffic Marooned in traffic These streets of old I wander with you With a hole in my heart And a rock in my shoe But I know the way In the classical sense In the factual sense So dress me down I'm going out of style But you're not coming with me No, not by a mile You were pretty then You're beautiful now You're beautiful now The wildest extreme At seventeen Now it's a classic Now it's a classic Can't blink out the dust in my eyes I'm half alive Wrapped up in plastic The throwaway scene At seventeen Now it's a classic Now it's a classic Old classmates name-dropping like flies The facile lies Bleeding nostalgic Bleeding nostalgic Bleeding nostalgic