Last I heard Nick's still driving lyft.
And Richie's working the midnight shift.
Of that motel down in Elsinore,
He's dodging all the methheads.
I'm working my four jobs.
Right down to my fragile bones.
Finding out there's nothing left inside.
Except some space that they just haven't took quite yet.
But if nothing gets better
Tell me what that means.
This hard-earned life is a joke.
Feels more like drowning to me.
There's no reason to believe.
My brother is a hardworking man.
He takes what he is given and gives everything he can.
He's talking bout fleeing the country, or faking his death
Says they're after his money.
My mother lost a child when she was 23.
She doesn't need to lose a couple more.
To some bad loans and undiagnosed depression
Still I think:
Maybe this is all we're meant for.
Brown bags outside a Circle K.
I watch my tooth fall out and hit the ground.
You know I can't dream bigger.
Talking shit on each other in between talking
About running away.
Watch the years disappear up our noses talking
About the same things.
All the shit we won't get done.
The reasons we could barely leave the house today.
Knowing it's sad at this point we can't be happy
With the work that pays.
Thinking I'll die young
Shouldn't feel like a relief.
I guess that it's a joke.
And there's no reason to believe.