see dead whales on tree branches not just the snow those winters where everything can be a metaphor for you and her, you and him, but not everything is young fucking love.
while we were upstate forming, breathing out this country you were inside writing it out, but your words embody the arrested bullshit of youth.
so where were you when we were throwing bricks, and where were you when we were breaking lines, and breaking bones and mending cuts?
between your suburban blues and not so clever words you’re drowning in the undertow and overdone. there are still reasons worth fighting and worth dying for but i don’t think your cause is one. you’re writing lies, we watched the flag burn in our bed.
if everybody has a reason for everything and walls rise when you’re truly scared, do they fall when you’ve been held down, when you’ve had enough, are you untying knots or yelling at the moon?
for all the times that we believed the cause, for all the years that we were bent and never broke, for all the songs that we wish we never wrote, we’re getting old, not sitting out.
look what you’ve made. you’re giving it up, lay down now and die. look what they’ve done, they’re selling us out, we’re buying in. we watched the flag burn in our bed, we dragged our bones on the ocean floor.