[VERSE] Remember that hole in the fence we crawled through to see Scooter? No tickets, almost no money, and somehow it all worked out. That trip to Kyiv — remember? That guy with DEFTONES on his arm slept with his feet against the ceiling, like that was how you're meant to sleep. Back then it didn't feel like an adventure. It was just another weekend. Something was always happening. We thought it always would. Now we meet four times a year, and somehow nothing really breaks. Sometimes I wonder: where did it all go? Nowhere. It just stopped being today. [CHORUS] You bought a car — big and beautiful, with a camera to watch your kid in back. I looked around the cabin and somehow thought: there's fourteen of us — we still won't all fit. [VERSE] Fourteen guys inside one UAZ. I still don't understand how. We went swimming in the quarry, an excavator worked across the lake. It calmly chewed the earth with its bucket, we yelled at each other through the water, and somehow I remember that machine better than half the faces that were there. We thought we'd have time for everything. There was so much time, we never counted it. Sometimes I wonder: where did it all go? Nowhere. It just stopped being today. [CHORUS] You bought a car — big and beautiful, with a camera to watch your kid in back. I looked around the cabin and somehow thought: there's fourteen of us — we still won't all fit. [VERSE] We smoked hookah every night. We didn't just smoke — it was a ritual. The hose went round through endless conversation, and somehow that became a religion. Now we just trade our vapes. Yours always tastes like dish soap. Mine's too sweet or way too sour — there's just no pleasing you. The ritual stayed. The magic disappeared. Sometimes I wonder: where did it all go? Nowhere. It just stopped being today. [CHORUS] You bought a car — big and beautiful, with a camera to watch your kid in back. I looked around the cabin and somehow thought: there's fourteen of us — we still won't all fit. [VERSE] Remember that highway out of Vladimir? Your brother with whatever girl he had then, while we screamed songs about elves like we'd just crushed an army of Balrogs. At least on the way back we didn't have that nasty bitch who had to piss every thirty minutes and kept putting on All Time Low. Your brother's in another city now, hiding out from debt collectors. And that nasty bitch — thank God — lives in Israel. Sometimes I wonder: where did it all go? Nowhere. It just stopped being today. [CHORUS] You bought a car — big and beautiful, with a camera to watch your kid in back. I looked around the cabin and somehow thought: there's fourteen of us — we still won't all fit. [BRIDGE] There was no final road trip. There was no final night when somebody stood up and said: “Remember this, guys. Everything changes after tonight.” There were no closing credits. There wasn't even some good sad song playing somewhere in the background. We didn't wake up one morning inside a completely different life. At some point it just turned out you had to plan a night together a month ahead. And four times a year is actually pretty often now. But give it ten minutes, two drinks of beer, and we're talking again like only yesterday we watched that sunrise at the beach in Odesa. [FINAL CHORUS] You bought a car — big and beautiful, with a camera to watch your kid in back. I looked around the cabin and somehow thought: there's fourteen of us — we still won't all fit. There was no final road trip. There was no final night I looked around the cabin and somehow thought: there's fourteen of us. We still won't all fit.
