Faces That We Used To Make

I spent all of my time at 18 sleeping through everyday and dreaming about you, the faces that we used to make when we're driving down Washington, three stop signs until my house, the summer air fills your lungs, I'll explode when we get out.

You used to want to be a writer, go to school in washington.

But where are you right now, still drowning out by the lake.

You never want to see your parents again.

You come back home for your dog on the weekends and the diner outside your house feels so empty now.

There's nothing left to do but feel sorry for yourself, hole up in your own hell, nothing will ever change.

But there's a lifetime, just you and me, trapped in cigarette stains in the passenger seat.

One day you're 15 and the next day you're 21 but the feeling never goes.

Yeah The feeling, you always feel so low.

This is a call to arms when you're feeling alone.

Expel all extremities, cut flesh to the bone.

And I wonder why I know you so well.

We'll lie in your bed, deliberate in repose