All this time lingers, undefined.
Someone choose who’s left and who’s leaving.
Memory will rust and erode into lists of all that you gave me:
a blanket, some matches, this pain in my chest,
the best parts of Lonely, duct-tape and soldered wires,
new words for old desires,
and every birthday card I threw away.
I wait in 4/4 time,
Count yellow highway lines that you’re relying on to lead you home.
I used to leave first, and now I’m left. I used to go first, and now I’m behind.
When did the most exciting thing to look forward to become something that is not exciting at all? Where is the adventure?
I know that I have to grow older and wiser, that I need to be an adult. But I would very much like to run away on an adventure right now. And not look back.