Fully packed minivans, stocked with Half-finished soda cans
I'm sitting here on my back porch like "where the f** are you peter pan?"
You were a sight for sore eyes, and mine are still healing
Jean jackets with too many patches and coffee breath in the morning
What the f** am I doing with my life?
I'll get back to you on that in two more years
Tell me the same old story again
You still don't even know my name
So why should I smile and address you by yours?
I'll never grow up and be like you
I'll pull my own plug before I get even a single slice of liver on my plate
What am I doing with my life you ask?
I'll get back to you on that in two more years
Heartbreak isn't a hierarchy
We all get f**ed in the end just the same