Just a pretty little time stamp
Left behind
A burnt match, the light of our lives
Casts a net or cuts the corners
It's over, we lied, long drives, now 9 to 5s
Good ideas make way for better ones
It’s a key to the cell
Chords and commas we should put on the shelf
Besides that, I'm now beside myself
Aren't you?
Hard of hearing with nothing to lose

I shared these plans with you
To find a voice
But you never follow through

Comfortable and careless
We’d descend: Lower, lows
Less desirable ends
Less photographic memories
Less friends
Come up for air and start descending again
It's a grand scheme
Just little black dots
All pressed one by one
In a brown cardboard box
A closet of forget-me-nots, that we all forgot
Sold the blueprints, and settled for rot

I'd shared these plans with you

To find a voice
But you never follow through

I made these plans with you
To find your voice
Whoa-oh-oh whoa whoa
Just friendly competition casting shadows on the 1st and 15th
Whoa- oh-oh whoa whoa
It throws shade on every moment
Now that age begins to gather some speed

Whoa-oh-oh whoa whoa
Whoa-oh-oh whoa whoa
Whoa-oh-oh whoa whoa
Whoa-oh-oh whoa whoa
This od of reality needs a more desirable end
So I still pretend