Burn After Writing Lyrics - On The Impossible Past - The Menzingers

Here's to you, the same chords that I stole 

From a song that I once heard 

The Same melody I borrowed from the void 

I'd rather observe than structure a narrative 

The characters are thin; the plot does not develop 

It ends where it begins 

It's on the screen, in paperbacks 

In section 8 and cul-de-sacs 

Electro haikus and drunk sonnets 

Are moving me along 

You cut my hair 

You left red ink everywhere 

Do my hands tell a story? 

Is it boring? 

[2x] 

What I'd give to force your sigh 

What I'd give to see you cry 

What I'd give for your caress 

To see your blue cotton dress 

Balled up on the floor 

Certain memories are the problem 

Certain drunken lines are the shame 

Seven hundred miles and four years 

I can't fight the flame; it burns 

You cut my hair 

You left red ink everywhere 

Do my hands tell a story? 

Is it boring? 

[2x]