Yeah I'm sitting on this barstool. Talking like a damn fool. Got the twelve o'clock news blues. And I've given up hope for the afternoon soaps. And a bottle of cold brew.
You see the world through your cynical eyes. You're a troubled young man I can tell. You've got it all in the palm of your hand. But your hand's wet with sweat and your head needs a rest.
Dear John, I knew you about as well as anyone. We were the wild ones. So sure those days would never end. Now they're only memories my friend. . Dear John, I'll see you.
I used to like to walk the straight and narrow line. I used to think that everything was fine. Sometimes I'd like to sit and gaze for days through sleepless dreams.