Every boy has his falling out
Every season has its drought
For this kid it was spring of 04
With pretexts wasted there
He
The end is seen so clearly
It will follow like the rest
But he has to lie, he has to write his story as he goes.
Ink out the bittersweet
Still wondering:
This sort of thing isn
Every boy has his selling out
Of himself this he cannot doubt
So pick on a star, call it your own
Watch it burn for you, it
He can
Let him fade with the wind