Into It. Over It. Batsto
Remember the year that you were gone:
A series of decisions -- unhealthy living.
Writing novels in monitored time.
Cold pavement under static sky - gaining patience,
but losing sight - we wrote off our problems as better times.
Buy hey, you couldn't sell the stories anyway.
Buy hey, you couldn't sell the stories anyway.
In a battle with New England of who knows you best, a mediocre vote of confidence.
That poor boy won't know what hit him, if and when you tell commitment to take a hike.
It's the same old story, so help me if I try to make an honest effort this time.
But hey, we couldn't tell the stories anyway.
But hey, we couldn't tell the stories anyway.
But hey, you couldn't tell the stories anyway.
But hey, you couldn't tell the stories anyway.
