In your Walkman, or in your girlfriend, it’s all alike
I’m just grateful that I’m capable of holding this mic
And holding it tight, and knowing what’s right
And showing some light, and glowing so bright
but i still hate you because i know you don’t miss me. i can’t help being so immature.
unknown quotients, you must be using potions
how else could you tie my head to the sky — girl inform me - the shins