Couldn't have written it any better
The first time since skipping town
That we hung out the old hotel burnt down
While the headlines couldn't capture
What that lobby once meant to us
A snapshot of our recklessness
Now buried in a mountain of sut.
Nostalgia is nothing but a trap
I get tangled up in it, I'm well aware of that
Everytime, I think that I have moved passed
I ruminate on events until I relapse
I can't help but wonder
Do you ever think of the evenings when
I'd show up at your front porch with draft glasses and a crooked grin?
You'd kick me out in the morning, steam rising from your coffee cup
Saying, "next time you go scheming, won't you consider growing up"
I'm still working on it
Despite getting old
Bordering on bitter and cynical
I'm partially in denial
That neighbourhoods will change
That favourite venues will close and best friends will move away
It's a juvenile act
Nothing short of weak
Comparing a place to what it used to be
Turn the dial when you've heard enough
That window won't open, it's painted shut
Nostalgia is nothing but a trap
I get tangled up in it, I'm well aware of that
Turn the dial when you've heard enough
That window won't open, it's painted shut