You Don't Write A Song To Sit

The National Bank At Profit Sells Road Maps For The Soul.

It's Like Going Out To The Desert And Screaming And Then Having Little Kids Throw Their Sandbox At You. I'm Only 24.

Walkin' Through The Leaves Fallin' From The Trees, Feelin' Like A Stranger Nobody Sees.

All The People We Used To Know, They're An Illusion To Me Now.

The Song Was There Before Me, Before I Came Along. I Just Sorta Came Down And Just Sorta Took It Down With A Pencil, But It Was There Before I Came Around.