Basements

Spent all our time in basements looking for a sound

Occupied a church hall just outside of town

My friend had a Twin and I had some old no-name Strat

And our drummer's dad was cool and he let us come over and practice

Pedal boards and power chords, tape deck on the stairs

Gave up talking to the Lord, but the devil heard my prayers

Got a little older and I moved out into a room

With a cutaway guitar and I was homesick for the moon

So I hired on with a road crew like a hinge without a door

Got an old Econoline, put the pedal to the floor

And we were unrepentant trouble, cynical and self-righteous

Black Labels in the moonlight underneath the ancient cypress

They make off with what you sow

But you can't reap what you still owe

Got a little older, dilated in the woods

Fancied myself some philosopher, but I was only ever good

At washing dishes at the cafe, playing bass out on the weekends

Sleeping 'til noon every day and never calling back my friends

And I couldn't make the cut, but I could make a bad impression

It's only once you've lost enough you get to learn the lesson

They make off with what you sow

But you can't reap what you still owe

Now I know my handywork doesn't sound all that correct

Wood's a little warped, resistors out of spec

But you can string up a slab of pine with some forty-watt 1x10

And I used to be somebody, I just don't remember when

So back down to the basement, my foolish pride and me

I keep it dimed in 2/4 time and I offer up a plea

They make off with what you sow

But you can't reap what you still owe