Between the stacks in the library
|
Not like anyone stopped to see
|
We came, they went, our bodies spent
|
Among the dust and the microfiche
|
|
Dark winters wear you down
|
Up again to see the dawn
|
In your worn sweatshirt and your mother's old skirt
|
It's enough to turn my studies down
|
|
Now that you feel
|
You say it's not real
|
Now that you feel
|
You say it's not real
|
|
I never thought I would come of age
|
Let alone on a moldy page
|
You put your back to the spines and you said it was fine
|
If there's nothing really left to say
|
|
You're taking toffee with your Vicodin
|
Something sweet to forget about him
|
If you go your own way, I can go my own way
|
And we'll never speak of it again
|
|
Now that you feel
|
You say it's not real
|
Now that you feel
|
You say it's not real
|
|
Don't check me out, don't check me out
|
Don't check me out
|
Don't check me out, don't check me out
|
Don't check me out
|
|
Don't check me out, don't check me out
|
Don't check me out
|
Don't check me out, don't check me out
|
Don't check me out
|
|
-----------------
|
Young Adult Friction
|
The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart |