Red corolla, burnt bumper
And those fingers were calloused, but still they were soft
And you still smell like cigarettes, same old dust waft
Years of patience just resulted in a big bust,
Personally I don't think we should waste our time trying to adjust.
And I know its wrong, and I know they're right,
But its warm and its bright,
The music feels good and its really not too late into the night...
Because this clock has been eating a hole in my chest,
And if sneaking out is all we can do, well we'll just have to forget the rest.
My youth is burning in my fingers and the morning tastes like BORE,
Because I'm scared one day I'll wake up and you won't be sixteen anymore.
This monotony is killing us both, but it's okay,
It's not like we're planning on sticking this out much longer, anyway.
Just take some deep breaths push our way through till day five,
An occasional show, some angry voices screaming to keep us alive.
We'll grasp those moments, keep the notes in our pockets, all heat and rush.
Then we'll do it all over again, get to school, watch individuality crushed.
Because I guess that's all there is to do,
Grab eachothers hands and pull ourselves through.