101 N taby ukulele według Walter Mitty And His Makeshift Orchestra

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And I drove all the way home listening to the Gaslight Anthem. 

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And thinking how I can't stop letting people down, I'm surely not as cool as I was back in school.

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I'm on the 101 falling asleep, I got the letters that you wrote for me. 

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Now here I am under golden arches, car in park, teary eyed, Mcgriddle in hand.

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My minds a slow device, I like to picture life somewhat like a Rockwell painting, 

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but great expectations just blister the paint.

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And I just wanna drink chocolate milk with my lovely, I just wanna burn this apartment. 

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And I just wanna float through my life merely dreaming at any given mention of the government.
 
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So i drive, heavy eyed, repeating "tramps like us were born to run", but I've got no one to run with.

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And I'm cold, so i've been told that I should greet the sun and get shit done. 

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I think I'd rather just sleep in.

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Cause we're all just twenty five words in the obituary section. 

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And everyday is just the passing of time, I think they call this depression.


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I'm not lonely, just kinda overwhelmed again. 

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Cause I'm living proof you can still sing the blues in 2011.

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