we've got millions of broken necks from looking up to you
so get your damn soapbox standing, high horse prancing ass down here with the truth
so don't let those admirers try and fit your shoes
because they will then see one size fits all feet and then they will walk all over you
when only the good die young
ain't it ironic I age so well
to be the last man standing at the kissing booth
that really doesn't mean a thing when they're for free and don't taste like they should
so after you're done drowning in a glass that is half full
the pessimists all join together and discuss how you never could do it like they could
when only the good die young
ain't it ironic I age so well
you and me are a kitschy parody of sincerity, apparently
truth is heat. we're burning underneath our seats
burning me for not standing
I love myself
I love my self abandonment
