Lights off, indication that we are caught

In this illusion for the sick and cruel

Our high school friends cut off their dead ends

And if you're boring, then I guess that's cool

But we were born as exotic, auto-erotic

Morbid, but that's just fine

Being simply the best, taking falls from the nest

But we're standing at the test of time

And so the story goes I turn from the lonely

I've never been too kind

Something about it rubs me the wrong way

Like ketamine and iodine

Maybe I screw up and maybe it hurts

But you were never one to fall in line

And if we hold out for comfort in doubt

Then we'll be waiting to the end of time

Yeah, we'll be waiting to the end of time

The city lights, burned out every night

But hey, the loneliness it ain't that bad

We bleed and write the ghosts that we fight

And then we're happy we can be that sad

Because we're cut from the cloth, we're a little bit off

And we're drunk on our parents' wine

Still, it's comforting how we're together somehow

In the hope that things'll turn out fine

For consoling, we go down to the warehouse

Where we used to play

All the places that we knew then are gone now

Relics of a better day

Maybe I screw up and maybe I'm worse

Because I live within my own confines

So let's all make up, get wasted, and curse

'Cause we were never getting out alive

No, we were never getting out alive

Yeah, I'm a screwup and hard to defend

But I bet you seventeen bucks I win in the end

I am a screwup, but I would contend

I bet you seventy bucks that I win in the end

The positions you hold and the lies you defend

All of your statements go up at the end

And the positions you hold and the lies you defend

Is it more to believe, is it more to pretend

The positions you hold and the lies you defend

Is it more to believe, is it more to pretend

And the positions you hold and the lies you defend

Da-da-da da, da, dah

Da-da-da da, dah

Da-da-da da, dah

Da-da-da da, da, dah

Da-da-da da, dah

Da-da-da da, dah

Da-da-da da, da, dah

Yeah, I'm a screwup but it doesn't really affect the way I think

About the world around me, that was calcified long ago

When our yearbooks' class photos were aging like wine

Because the honor roll left the rest of us confined

Unto this graveyard of asphalt we used to call our home

The broken storefronts its epitaph, and Main Street its bones

Where we're punished for dreaming on contented lives

Where all our friends are depressed, have skipped town, or died

Because our prospects are held on consignment and sold

Allotting room for the K Mart where we had a soul

But I would rather subsist on the empty inside

Than be a part of the sick that they seek to provide

I'd rather die in the place I was told to survive

Than work a goddamn warehouse on the thirty-five

I'd rather die in the place that I swore I'd survive

Than work a goddamn warehouse on the thirty-five

I'd rather die, I'd rather die, I'd rather die, I'd rather die

Than be anything but the screwup that survives