[Instrumentals] [Verse 1] Tuning pegs slip, the string unwinds, Like the way we lost track of time. 4/4 was too simple— 7/8 felt more like us. Dissonance hums in the back of my brain, Like cheap amps we pushed too far. Like the car rides that never led anywhere— (Not that we cared.) [Chorus] Handprints on fogged-up car windows, Ink stains, chipped picks, Bitter coffee, late-night walks— We counted everything but the seconds slipping by. The stickers on our old guitars peeling off, Strings rusted, bridge starting to lift. We swore we'd fix it, we swore we'd play again— But the songs just stayed in our heads. [Verse 2] Cigarette burns on a hoodie I stole, Your voice cracking, screaming through static. Half a song scribbled on the back of a math test— What was it called? We ran through streets like syncopated rhythms, Cutting corners, skipping beats. Tapping out melodies on chain-link fences, Never finishing what we started. [Chorus] Handprints on fogged-up car windows, Ink stains, chipped picks, Bitter coffee, late-night walks— We counted everything but the seconds slipping by. The stickers on our old guitars peeling off, Strings rusted, bridge starting to lift. We swore we'd fix it, we swore we'd play again— But the songs just stayed in our heads. [Insturmental] [Bridge] How did we measure days? In tunings? Drop D, open C, the weird one you made up— (That never quite sounded right, but we played it anyway.) How did we measure nights? By the flicker of streetlights through cracked windshields? By the distortion pedals left on too long, Humming into the empty air? [Chorus (Reprise)] Handprints on fogged-up car windows, Ink stains, chipped picks, Bitter coffee, late-night walks— We counted everything but the seconds slipping by. The stickers on our old guitars peeling off, Strings rusted, bridge starting to lift. We swore we'd fix it, we swore we'd play again— But the songs just stayed in our heads. Sweat dripping on a dim-lit basement stage, Knees shaking, hearts pounding off-time. Static on the tape, blown-out speakers— We never sounded clean, and we never wanted to. [Instrumental] [Outro] The last note rings out— but no one’s there to hear it. [end]
