Call The Cliché

We don’t have the time or the space

To bounce these old confessions off a new face

They say how squeaky and clean you keep your travel machine

That we don’t have the means to replace

You shot it down

My feet I found

This in-between is tearing up the ground

Lose it too quick to gamble around but she don’t know

Taste the Manhattan running so flat that he won’t go

Take me back to better days before the dream was sold

Call the cliche a different name so that we can fold

So that we can fold

We don’t want to try to ignore

The sentimental stories from your life before

Just throw it in my face like you’ve done a hundred times before

I wanna be the heart that you tore

You shot it down

My feet I found

This in-between is tearing through the ground

Lose it too quick to gamble around but she don’t know

Taste the Manhattan running so flat that he won’t go

Take me back to better days before the dream was sold

Call the cliche a different name so that we can fold

You’re proud of your disaster now we’re in too deep to slow down

Lose it too quick to gamble around but she don’t know

(she don't know)

Taste the Manhattan running so flat that he won’t go

(he won't go)

Take me back to better days before the dream was sold

Call the cliche a different name so that we can fold

So that we can fold