the-songs-of-my-life

[the-songs-of-my-life]

Shane Koyczan - Remember How We Forget

Remember how we forget? Remember how no one ever really died in the wars we fought? Because each gunshot came from our finger tips. And we never really kept them loaded, just in case ‘cause each enemy was a friend and none of it was about oil, religion, or land. It was all just pretend. Remember how we used to bend reality? Like we were circus strong men. Like our imaginations were in shape then. Like we were all ninjas trained in the deadly art of “did not.” Like, “I totally get you.” “Did not.”

Remember how we forget? Remember how our parents told us never to look directly into the sun. And how we were their son. And so we never looked directly into the mirror, in fear that we would go blind. Remember how we used to find any old reason just to call someone we were crushing on. Like we could just pawn off our sense of embarrassment. Buy a chunk of courage that would last just long enough to have us asking them about math and stuff. And how stuff was just stuff. Like, “I heard you’re getting braces;” now braces were, and still are, kinda hot.

Remember how we forgot? Remember how we all caught mono, and our folks would go, “oh, the kissing disease.” And our first steps into gangstahood had us saying “mother, please,” even though we never did half the things we said we’d done. We just spun yarn like Rumpelstiltskin spun gold. We told ghost stories never realizing we would, one day ourselves, become ghosts haunting the hallways of schools, breaking all the rules of silence in the library. But we had no chains to rattle, no voice to battle the fact that we had no vocal chords. We had only fingernails on chalkboards. We would scream, shout, and yell, trying to tell ourselves what experience can teach us what no teacher taught.

Remember how we forget? Once upon a time, we were young. Our dreams hung like apples waiting to be picked and peeled. And hope was something needing to be reeled in so we can fill the always empty big fish bin with the one that got away and proudly say that “this time, impossible is not an option.” Because success is so akin to effort and opportunity, they could be related. So, we took chances. We figure skated on thin ice, believed that each slice of life was served with something sweet on the side. And failure was never nearly as important as the fact that we tried. That in the war against fraility and limitation, we supplied the determination it takes to make ideas and goals, the parents of possibility. And we believe ourselves to be members of this family. Not just one branch on one tree, but a forest whose roots make up a dynasty. So, when I call you “sis” or “bro,” it’s not lightly.

And when I ask you to remember, it’s because the future isn’t what it used to be. So remember now. Pay tribute to every sacrifice laid upon the altar of somehow, for all the times.

Somehow, we overcame. Somehow, we pushed on. Somehow, we’ve gone the distance. And in, going there, we possessed the freedom to map the uncharted lands of any- and everywhere.

We are unbound, six feet above the underground where we will all one day rest. So, until then, test the limits. Test the boundaries and borders, as if the headquarters of potential lay just beyond the world’s edge. Let the belief that hope hope belongs to us all. Be the pledge you take to make the unachievable an inconceivable as the false fact that we were never here.

We were here, and our memories are as dear to us as every slow motion moment or held breath. So, remember every instance before death. Every first kiss, first dance, near miss, last chance, yes, no, maybe so.

Let us go the distance once more. Let us remember all the moments that were and were not. Like the point is something we can get and what we can get is what we got. Because all we have are the times between the moments we connect each dot.

So, live and remember. Burn like an ember, capable of starting fires. Like each moment inspires the next. Like memories are the context we put ourselves in so that life becomes the next-of-kin we need to notify in case of a Big Bang or extinction-level event.

Let now be our advent. Let us live like we meant it. Let us burn like we mean it. Because this world doesn’t give a shit if we end in a train wreck or car crash. If our story ends with a dot or dash. If we were dust or ash. Because all we were is all we’ll be. And all we are is the in-between of so far, so good. So, forget every would, could, or should not. Forget remembering how we forget. Live like a plot twist exists now and in memory because we burn bright. Our light leaves scars on the sun.

Let no one say we will be undone by time’s passing. The memories we are amassing will stand as testament. That somehow we bent minds around the concept that we see others within ourselves. That self-knowledge can’t be found on bookshelves. So, who we are has no bearing on how we appear. Look directly into every mirror. Realize our reflection is the first sentence to a story. And our story starts: “We were here.”

#Shane Koyczan #remember how we forget #lyrics #words #spoken word

[the-songs-of-my-life]

Shane Koyczan and The Short Story Long - A Pretty Decent Coat in My Closet (2007)

Atlantis

Stop Signs

People are Getting Better

Skin

Help Wanted

The Crickets Have Arthritis

This Is My Voice

Swallowed

Let Me Go

Apology

Move Pen Move

#shane koyczan and the short story long #a pretty decent coat in my closet #2007 #lyrics #atlantis #stop signs #people are getting better #skin #help wanted #the crickets have arthritis #this is my voice #swallowed #let me go #apology #move pen move #words #spoken word

[the-songs-of-my-life]

Shane Koyczan and The Short Story Long - Swallowed

Dark and saucy. In his own cunning way, my friend has told me about his girlfriend’s oral sex habits. “Guess what girlfriend’s favorite bird is.” What, friend for life? “The swallow.” Instantly, I know what he’s talking about. Not because I’m fixated on oral sex, it’s just that his voice had its certain tone when its lightening things to any kind of sex.

He almost wants to run out and show the world. He’s almost the world will stare at them in awe, like they were mighty locks of Samson. Enough to ensure me a place in history, as there is certainly.

#Shane Koyczan #the short story long #shane koyczan and the short story long #swallowed #a pretty decent coat in my closet

[the-songs-of-my-life]

Shane Koyczan and The Short Story Long - This Is My Voice

This is my voice; there are many like it, but this one is mine. And it’s a fine line when you’re trying to define the finer points of politics. “Politics” being a Latin word: “Poli-” meaning “many;” “-tics” meaning “blood sucking bastards.” But too many live in countries where it’s bullets instead of ballots. Where gavels fall like mallets when held in the hands of those whose judgements can be bought as easily as children can be taught to covet. And the only ones willing to speak up are forced to live so far beneath the radar that the underground is considered above it.

This is for the Ho Chi Minhs and the Michael Collins, for the Marquis de Sades and the muted gods.

This is my voice; there are many like it, but this one is mine. And this time, it’s for the sons and daughters who watch mothers and fathers down in shallows while panning for the American dream in the polluted creek called “the mainstream.” This is for the homeless people sleeping on steam vents, making makeshift tents out of cardboard and old trash, trying to catch forty winks in between the crash of car wrecks, risking their necks by surviving another day so that they can starve, so that famine can carve their body into a corpse. Before their heart stops beating so that men in a boardroom meeting can make it harder for them to get welfare or healthcare. It’s no wonder some of them pawn off their own wheelchair. And every time I walk by, I can’t help but feel at fault, that maybe I didn’t search myself hard enough for the control+S so I could save the world. I’ve got to cash in my reality checks so I can drop the world some spare fantasies. Because the most valuable thing I’ve ever learned is to believe people when they say please.

So, don’t tell me there are no heroes. This is for them, the women and the men. For Helen Keller who, against all odds, found a voice. For the choice Veronica Querin made. For Martin Luther King who stayed just long enough to share his dream with us. This is for that day on a bus with sister Rosa Park. This is for the Joan of Arcs who believe even in the face of sparks becoming flame. This is for the game Louis Riel refused to play. For the day the Dalai Lama finally goes home. For Dr. Jeffrey Wigand who alone stared down big tobacco. For Nelson Mandela who continues to go the extra mile. For the trial that finally found a man guilty of shooting Medgar Evers dead. This is for everything Malcom X said, remembered by athletes who left the Olympics double-fisted. For Arthur Miller, blacklisted for calling a witch hunt what it was. For Galileo, locked up because he said the earth revolves around the sun. For anyone who was told to be quiet but, instead, had their say. And imagine if we could still hear John Lennon play. This is for the someone who stood up today and said no. For Edward R. Murrow, who shut down McCarthy. This is for Salman Rushdie, Mahatma Gandhi, you, me. This city, this country, we will always have a choice when you stand up to be counted. Tell the world, this is my voice; there are many like it, but this one is mine.

#Shane Koyczan #the short story long #shane koyczan and the short story long #this is my voice #spoken word #poem #poetry #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

Shane Koyczan and The Short Story Long - The Crickets Have Arthritis

It doesn’t matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting. It doesn’t matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man whose faith tells him, “god’s hands are big enough to catch an airplane or a world.”

Doesn’t matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death or that every breath was either hard labor or hard time or that I’m either always too hot or too cold. It doesn’t matter because my hospital roommate wears Star Wars pajamas, and he’s nine years old.

His name is Louis, and I don’t have to ask what he’s got. The bald head with the skin-and-bones frame speaks volumes. The Game Boy and feather pillow blooms like they’re trying to make him feel at home ‘cause he’s gonna be here a while.

I manage a smile the first time I see him, and it feels like the biggest lie I’ve ever told. So, I hold my breath ‘cause I’m thinking, any minute now, he’s gonna call me on it. I hold my breath ‘cause I’m scared of a fifty-seven pound boy hooked to a machine because he’s been watching me. And, maybe I’ve got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he’s bionic or some shit.

So, I look away, like I just made eye contact with a gang member who’s got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he’s gonna give me my life back the minute I’ve got something to trade. I damn near pull out my pack and say “cigarette?”

But my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all about show-and-tell. He’s got everything from a shotgun shell to a crow’s foot, and he can put them all in context.

Like: “See, this is from a shooting range.” And: “See, this is from a weird girl.”

I watch his hand curl around a cuff link and a tie tack and realize that every nick-knack is a treasure and every treasure’s got a story. And every time I think I can’t handle more, he hits me with another story.

Says, “See, this is from my father. “See, this is from my brother. “See, this is from that weird girl. “See, this is from my mother.” It took me two days to figure out that that weird girl is his sister. Took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her.

They visit every day and stay well passed visiting hours because, for them, that term doesn’t apply. But when they do leave, Louis and I are left along, and he says the worst part about being sick is you get all the free ice cream you ask for. And he says the worst part about that is realizing that there’s nothing more they can do for you. He says, “ice cream can’t make everything okay.”

And there’s no easy way of asking, and I already know what he’s going to say, but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyway. “Are you scared?” Louis doesn’t even lower his voice when he says, “fuck yeah.”

I listen to a nine year old boy say the word “fuck” like he was a thirty year old man with a nosebleed being lowered into a shark tank. He’s got a right to it, and if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, I want to teach him to swear like the devil was sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad. But before I can forget that Louis is nine years old, he says, “please don’t tell my dad.”

He asks me if I believe in angels, and before I can realize I don’t have the heart to hell him, I tell him “not lately.” And I just lay there waiting for him to hate me, but he doesn’t know how to so he never does.

Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before god gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was.

He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I’ve never seen in someone who knows they’re dying. And I’m trying so hard not to remind him. I’ll be out of here in a couple of days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. And he’ll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I’ve been with him for five days, and all I really know is Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow and watch them float to the ground. Almost as if he was the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say that it’s gravity that’s been getting us down. But the truth is, there’s not enough miracles to go around, kid.

And there’s too many people petitioning god for the winning lotto ticket. And for every answered prayer, there’s a cricket with arthritis. And the only reason we can’t find answers is the search party didn’t invite us. And, Louis, right now, the crickets have arthritis.

So there is no music, no symphony of nature, swelling to crescendos. As if we bent halos into melodies that could keep rhythm with the way our hearts beat. So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying nine year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant.

Grow distant enough to know that, as far as our efforts go, we don’t always get a reply. But I swear, whatever god I can find in the time I have left, I’m gonna remember you, kid. Gonna tell your story as often as every story you told me. And every time I tell it, I’ll say, “see, there’s bravery in this world.”

There’s six-point-five billion people curled up like fists protesting death but every breath we take has to be given back. A nine year old boy taught me that.

So, hold your breath, the same way you’d hold a pen when writing thank you letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold. Then, let it go, as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back. Let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex.

The black eye will be worth it because what is your night worth without a story to tell. And why wield a word like “worth” if you’ve got nothing to sell. People drop pennies down a wishing well, as if the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. But if you’ve got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of the hard work, hang in, hold on mentality. Like, I accept any challenge, so challenge me.

Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night, I mugged a mountain, so bring that shit; I’ve had practice.

Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found the prize inside because we never lied to ourselves, never told ourselves it would be easy or undemanding. So, we sing in our own vibration and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop mid-flight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands on god’s hands.

Take the time to catch you so that, even if god doesn’t, it wasn’t because we didn’t try.

I don’t often believe in angels, but on the day I left, Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, “this is for you.”

I half-expected him to say, “see, this is the first one I grew.”

#Shane Koyczan #the short story long #shane koyczan and the short story long #the crickets have arthritis #spoken word #poem #poetry #words #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

Shane Koyczan and The Short Story Long - Skin

Skin tells you where to touch it if you listen, and yours has been yelling, telling the stories of yes and no, stop and go slow like a snail that knows the next rainfall is at least a week away. I listen to your skin say "right there." As if "there" was where goosebumps become speed bumps. My fingers become tree trunks slowly growing into forests. Skin becomes kindling as we begin smoke signaling lips to move in. Your mouth is a bargain bin, and I was looking for a deal. It was practically Boxing Day when I heard your skin say, "your clothes were 100% off, and your concerns were out of stock." I could listen to your skin talk for the better part of a week, so long as it will speak to me of you. Turning knowledge into a residue whose values is determined by how much pressure I apply when I place my hands where you want me to. Few are the smiles I've sought with such relentlessness, as if to dismiss all other aspects of my life and focus on now and how it is you came to be an answer to the question I ask myself the last time I was alone. I've grown from the head down, refusing to plant my feet to the ground because only statues were made to stand still. And I will walk to you so long as I can hear your skin say, "you've got my back like vertebrae" and that this constant backache stems from the fact that you've cracked these bones back into position so I may stand for something more than "beauty is on the inside" or "you can make it if you try" I am not a goddamn symbol. I'm just like you; I put my pants on one leg at a time. The only difference is, when my pants are on, I'm awesome. But you want my pants off, and well, that's fucking awesome. So, you can save rum and Hennessy for someone other than me because I want to be sober for this. You can dismiss ice cubes, candle wax, handcuffs, and all that other stuff because I refuse to believe that my touch is not enough to turn you on. Because I will touch you like going is the new drug and we're both gone. I want your body to be something I did wrong. I want you to hold it against me. This is just to say I don't imagine you Saran-wrapped in black latex or seeping out the edges of something tight and red. I don't close my eyes to dream of your back arched at the impossible angle of a bow pulled tight, encouraging your shoulder blades to drip the blood of stockpiled broken hearts. But I hope the sound of you not shielding your eyes from my blinding humility will one day top the charts; It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. And you're the Charlie Chaplin of "your beautiful"s 'cause you make me believe it when you say it all without saying a word. And looking at you, it occurred to me, I could sit around all day wearing nothing but your kiss. You make mirrors want to grind themselves back down into sand because they can't do your reflection justice And this just in, I am done with those who, in life, would have made me fight an army of imperfection, a battalion of flaws. Tonight, we're going to keep this city up when they hear our bodies slap together like applause.

#shane koyczan #the short story long #shane koyczan and the short story long #skin #words #spoken word #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long - People Are Getting Better

It's alright. It's okay. Ask me about tomorrow, only here today. And as for next week, as for next year. The future, my regards, know I'll be here.

They say people are getting better, people are okay. But you see, everything can be narrowed down into the truth behind you. You just gotta know where to look. You gotta know where to find it.

They say they built a pawn shop right on the spot where the devil fell because, even when you are broke, you still got something you cal sell.

Hell, the guy on the podium says he sells truth, but you can smell all the politics on his breath. He's been doing too many shots of taxes and death.

There's a guy on my street corner who says he sells freedom. He'll even give me the needles if I'm broke, if I need them, but you see I know what I'm missing. So, I ain't gotta try it because freedom ain't freedom if you gotta buy it.

But I have no grand plan for the great escape. And even though I got a pretty decent cape in my closet, when I rip open my shirt, there's no "S" on my chest.

I'm no Superman. No adopted bulletproof savior of the earth. I'm just like everyone else, I have to be slapped on the ass at birth. But for what it's worth, I'm more like Clark Kent.

A journalist of the humanities that tells it like it is. And now I'm telling you, we live in a world where Darth Vader reminds us: "This is CNN."

But even Darth Vader stuttered when we heard about these kids who turned their school into a shooting range. And the whole world sat by like a baby in a shitty diaper, crying out for change.

It's alright. It's okay. Ask me about tomorrow, only here today. And as for next week, as for next year. The future, my regards, know I'll be here.

But what about the grade ten dropouts with the grade two reading levels that play Russian Roulette with guns they found on their playground, whispering "don't worry, even if it does happen, it will take less than a minute." Because I guess even the word "funeral" still has the word "fun" in it.

And in order to reassure ourselves, we listen to people. Because people say that people are getting better, people are okay.

But if you look outside your window, the children aren't playing marbles or jacks. They are vengefully stepping on cracks to break their mothers' backs when they can't have their way.

Sure, people are getting better, people are okay.

And we send our children running towards the future, as if the future is the place to be. And all we can see if the hope bleeding out of their eyes as they look up and watch the airlines plummet from the skies.

And run past a young girl in a small cubby hole full of corroding cement because she doesn't run anymore. See, she's already dropped out of the race. And in case you couldn't tell by looking at the lesions on her face, she hangs a cardboard sign around her neck that reads "I have AIDS, please leave me alone."

And the kids put more quarters into the phone and then cry into the flat-line of the dial tone when mom and dad say, "no, you can't come home."

It's alright. It's okay. Ask me about tomorrow, only here today. And as for next week, as for next year. The future, my regards, know I'll be here.

They say people are getting better, people are okay. But I can only say that none of this is okay. The world is not okay! And I'm no better than anyone else. I'm looking for answers, stumbling around in the dark, curling up like a question mark because I don't know what to do. But I know you have to care about the world because it doesn't care about you.

#shane koyczan and the short story long #shane koyczan #the short story long #a pretty decent cape in my closet #2007 #people are getting better #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long - Stop Signs

It's all stop signs. it's all lines that shouldn't be crossed. It's all interpretations that have been lost in translation, even when the meaning is embossed on something that redefines stop signs, something that erases and redraws lines for all the times curiosity get the better of us. But until it gets the best, we test the lines. Until it gets the best, it's all stop signs.

Now, all that you are, changes we love. While you are gone, I'll be waiting.

And then there's you, and I wanna kiss you so bad that I'd be willing to cut off my own head and just throw it towards your lips. And you'd be well within your rights to just swat it to the floor, but I'd redefine hardcore, lying there at the tips of your toes. Because god knows I'd be trying to figure out some way to roll towards them. And maybe that's crossing the line. Maybe that's a little creepy. If I knew you better than I do, I would know creepy's not the way to go. So, how's this? I wanna kiss you like a traffic jam. I wanna move slow. I wanna stop and go. Like, I know at least I'm moving towards you, and there's no use weaving through gridlock. Because every clock keeps poly ticking and tocking to tell me it's time for all the amazing in-between that's been seen and heard and each word that's passed between us like someone with somewhere to go.

And I know I hardly know you, so let's go slow like a turtle with a purpose. Let's not miss a single minute. Because every sixty seconds that contained within it are the two-hundred times I've tried to coax each smile to bloom into a laugh. And exact science of math can't begin to calculate half the time it would take to make misery turn itself into a punchline. One that was willing to mine past silver and gold just looking for something to tell you something that's never been told.

I wanna hold you like mine are the last arms in the world. I want them curled around you like the red and white stripes on a barber pole. And when I give you a lump of coal for Christmas and tell you that in a million years, it's gonna be a diamond. And will you wait for me until then?

Because that's when I'll be evolved enough to melt all the other brains of men on earth. And maybe I've got a shot it all that remains is two gazelles on a Serengeti plane and me. Of course, if you're willing to make sweet, sweet love with animals, I'll totally understand; I'm good with that. I'll ban together with whatever vegetation is left living. Me three weeds and a rubber plant will spend Thanksgiving saying "how grateful we are that you're happy."

Now, all that you do helps me get through, love. If you're unsure, I will show you.

I want you to feel like the banana peel under Charlie Chaplain's shoe. Because it's you that brings the house of this heart down. It's you that's the chamber of commerce in a town that's got nothing to offer but everything everyone can't find everywhere else under the sun. I'm done with all of the every that. Done thinking of where it is I'm going. I'm figuring about where it is I'm at. And that has got to be beside the one who's stopped me from trying to calculate the sum total of someone, as if this biological calculus has ever done anything for me. Other than the something that keep me seeking to self-providence that don't exist. Like a swat team sharp shooter with cataracts, I've missed the point more times than certain Americans have been elected to the oval office, which is always once too often. And let's face it, sometime two too many.

But this time, I'm willing to pay interest on a penny for your thoughts. Mortgage my mind, finance an expedition that will find me a better way to get to know you. Because I've read through the short story of my life and found that your name stands out on the page. Your slightest look unlocks the tumblers on my rib cage. And you can gauge my sincerity when I lift my heart towards you and tell you in a million years, it'll be less than dust. The slightest gust will blow it away. But you'll have to listen to wind chimes say that you still are worth waiting for.

Don't tell me you're not beautiful. You're the kind of beautiful that the blind would see if we could figure out some way to give them three seconds of sight. When you tell me you're not gorgeous, I want to pop out your left eye and show it to your right.

Now, all that you do helps me get through, love. If you're unsure, I will show you. All that you are changes me, love. While you are gone, I'll be waiting.

You're worth crossing whatever distance it would take. Worth building bridges to make connections because I've been secretly stealing stop signs, repainting traffic lines so I can only go one way. Because as far as I can tell, dedication is the better part of foreplay.

And I admit it, I'm committed. Everything I've done, I've done it to make you smile because it's been the largest part. Some long while since I've had someone do that for me. You feel like comedy after three years of being on the bandwagon of calamity. And I can't be bothered with a tragedy without trying to get to know you. I've been through enough wretchedness to know that some flowers can still grow through the garbage, and you make me want to take up gardening. Seeing sadness drain the spirit out of this history as if the worst is yet to come. Those that took the time to know me know I don't run. Partly because I'm not athletic, but mostly because that's life, and I've met it head-on! I've gone the distance more times than George Lucas looked at Jar Jar Binks and thought "fuck!"

And until I fit the bill, I will still fill my days trying. Because I'm yours, from bottom to the top. And I'm not just saying I'll be here for you, I'm saying I'll never stop.

#shane koyczan #shane koyczan and the short story long #the short story long #2007 #lyrics #stop signs #a pretty decent cape in my closet

[the-songs-of-my-life]

All Time Low - Don't Panic! (2012)

The Reckless and the Brave

Backseat Serenade

If These Sheets Were States

Somewhere in Neverland

So Long Soldier

The Irony of Choking on a Lifesaver

To Live and Let Go

Outlines

Thanks to You

For Baltimore

Paint You Wings

So Long, and Thanks for the Booze

#all time low #don't panic #2012 #the reckless and the brave #backseat serenade #if these sheets were states #somewhere in neverland #so long soldier #the irony of choking on a lifesaver #to live and let go #outlines #thanks to you #for baltimore #paint you wings #so long and thanks for the booze #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

All Time Low - So Long, and Thanks for All the Booze

Pick yourself up off the ground. You're sure as hell too good to let them hold you down.

Waste of chances, waste of time, you gotta let me be me. You waste it all on wasted lines. You gotta let me be me. Back myself into a corner once again. Take you for a liar while you call yourself a friend. It's the end. It's the end.

So, gimme, gimme my motivation. Gimme, gimme my dreams. You gotta tear me down to set me free. And gimme, gimme my revelation. Gimme back my scene. You've gotta let me be, you gotta let me be me. You gotta let me be me.

I gave a lot to let you in. You gotta let me be me. I shook your hand; you pulled the pin. You gotta let me be. Now, I'm all ears to find you're lying through your teeth. You wear the smile to hide the coward underneath. Bittersweet, bittersweet.

So, gimme, gimme my motivation. Gimme, gimme my dreams. You gotta tear me down to set me free. And gimme, gimme my revelation. Gimme back my scene. You've gotta let me be, you gotta let me be me.

A waste of chances, waste of time. You gotta let me be me. A waste of chances, waste of time.

So, gimme, gimme my motivation. Gimme, gimme my dreams. You gotta tear me down to set me free. And gimme, gimme my revelation. Gimme back my scene. You've gotta let me be. You've gotta let me be. You gotta let me be me.

#all time low #don't panic! #2012 #so long and thanks for all the booze #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

All Time Low - Paint You Wings

When will the princess figure it out? She ain't worth saving. Heavy the head that bears the crown of my mistaken. Apathy for sympathy, I was never good enough to be anything but remedy to all of your constant pressing needs. And I never learned, so...

I painted a picture of the things I wanted most, to color in the darker side of my brightest hopes. But there's a monster standing where you should be. So, I'll paint you wings, and I'll set you free, yeah.

I was a pawn in all of your plans. You kept me busy, locked behind your chamber doors when you felt frisky, until you got sick of me. I was never good enough to be anything but remedy to all of your constant pressing needs. And I never learned, so...

I painted a picture of the things I wanted most, to color in the darker side of all my brightest hopes. But there's a monster standing where you should be. So, I'll paint you wings, and I'll set you free.

When will the princess figure it out? She ain't worth saving. When will the world get over all her misbehaving? When we ever learn?

I painted a picture of the things I wanted most, to color in the darker side of all my brightest hopes. But there's a monster standing where you should be. So, I'll paint you wings, and I'll set you free. She can fly away.

I painted a picture of the things I wanted most, to color in the darker side of all my brightest hopes. But there's a monster standing where you should be. So, I'll paint you wings, and I'll set you free.

She can fly away.

#all time low #don't panic! #paint you wings #2012 #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

All Time Low - For Baltimore

Mayday, situation overload. I'm restless, obsessed with your future, and all my worries, they don't bother you. Collected, you render me useless, but I carry on.

Right now, I think that you think that I'm half-drunk. Searching for something of substance. Casually dropping a line designed to keep you next to me. I can't awkwardly craft in advance. I know that you wouldn't fall for that. You say "shut up and take my hand," and we carry on.

I don't wanna say goodnight. The city comes alive when we're together. Why can't Thursday last forever? I don't wanna say goodnight. I've never been so sure. Just do it for the memories. Do it for Baltimore, and do it for me.

Hot damn, look at me now. I'm all caught up, riding the high of my- Good luck. Casually dropping a line designed to keep you next to me. I bet you never thought you would fall again. So much for keeping this just friends. Shut up and kiss me now, and we carry on.

I don't wanna say goodnight. The city comes alive when we're together. Why can't Thursday last forever? I don't wanna say goodnight. I've never been so sure. Just do it for the memories. Do it for Baltimore, and do it for me. Do it for me.

Mayday, situation overload. I'm restless, obsessed with your future. And all my worries, they don't bother you. Collected, you render me useless, but I carry on.

I don't wanna say goodnight. The city comes alive when we're together. Why can't Thursday last forever? I don't wanna say goodnight. I've never been so sure. Just do it for the memories. Do it for Baltimore, and do it for me.

#all time low #don't panic! #2012 #for baltimore #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

All Time Low - Thanks to You

Thanks to you, I'm moving on, chasing out my skeletons and the troubles they have caused. And all thanks to you, I'm turning over the pages in this book of revelations about self-medication.

But there's this ringing in my head as the ghost of you hangs over my bed. Who said it was gonna be easy?

Thanks to you, I'm not myself. I'm all strung out, that much is clear. And I'll spend my whole lifetime with your lifeline wrapped around my throat thanks to you. All thanks to you.

Thanks to you, I've lost my touch. I struggle to find the sense in making sense and giving a semblance of a fuck. And thanks to you for all the nightmares. There's not a night that I sleep quiet and complacent without my medication because there's this ringing in my head. Who said it was gonna be easy? As the ghost of you hangs over my bed.

Thanks to you, I'm not myself. I'm all strung out, that much is clear. And I'll spend my whole lifetime with your lifeline wrapped around my throat thanks to you. All thanks to you.

But there's this ringing in my head as the ghost of you hangs over my bed.

Thanks to you, I'm not myself. I'm all strung out, that much is clear. And I'll spend my whole lifetime with your lifeline wrapped around my throat thanks to you. All thanks to you.

Thanks to you. Thanks to you. Thanks to you. Thanks to you.

#all time low #don't panic! #2012 #thanks to you #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

All Time Low - Outlines

I'm half-remembered, half way across the world. Twice removed from a second home, the shadow of a ghost in an old haunt with a lease on life 'cause I can't afford to own. When being young starts getting old, a new place saves face, or so I'm told. Be the new kid on an old block, a chalk outline on a playground blacktop.

I'm just a moment, so don't let me pass you by. We could be a story in the morning, but we'll be a legend tonight. I'm just a moment, so don't let me pass you by, and they can speak our names in a dead language. 'Cause you and I, we're alive, but just for a moment.

I'm twice the man that I thought I was yesterday. Half the time, I'm a world away. A flicker of a soul casting silhouettes on the face of a town that could not get me to stay. And when the spark's gone, former lovers just looking for a bus to throw me under. I'll be the new kid on an old block, a chalk outline on a playground blacktop.

I'm just a moment, so don't let me pass you by. We could be a story in the morning, but we'll be a legend tonight. I'm just a moment, so don't let me pass you by, and they can speak our names in a dead language. 'Cause you and I, we're alive, but just for a moment, just for a moment.

When being young starts getting old, a new place saves face, or so I'm told. I'll be the new kid on an old block, a chalk outline on a playground blacktop.

I'm just a moment, so don't let me pass you by. We could be a story in the morning but a legend tonight. I'm just a moment, so don't let me pass you by, and they can speak our names in a dead language. 'Cause you and I, we're alive, but just for a moment. You lose. Just for the moment. No, you lied. Just for a moment.

#all time low #don't panic! #2012 #outlines #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

All Time Low - To Live and Let Go

Rush of the past, I quietly crash and the tables turn. You're beautiful, strange, defiantly brash. Be careful now, kid, you're a cut above. Always just a cut above the rest.

If there's something left to be learned, then my time is running. Why should I waste it all, waste it on you? I shouldn't be trusted to live and let go when the last of my cities have burned? Then, what's left in nothing? Why did I waste it all, waste it on you? I couldn't be trusted to live and let go.

Fill in the blanks, pencil on paper. Disposable, throw away lines. Intentional but unbelievable, kid, you're a cut above. Always just a cut above the rest.

If there's something left to be learned, then my time is running. Why should I waste it all, waste it on you? I shouldn't be trusted to live and let go when the last of my cities have burned? Then, what's left in nothing? Why did I waste it all, waste it on you? I couldn't be trusted to live and let go.

Shaken and tried, fade and resign as the tables turn. Let's slip away, the renegade life you've been dreaming of. Kid, you're a cut above. Always just a cut above the rest.

If there's something left to be learned, then my time is running. Why should I waste it all, waste it on you? I shouldn't be trusted to live and let go when the last of my cities have burned? Them, what's left in nothing? Why did I waste it all, waste it on you? I couldn't be trusted to live and let go.

#all time low #don't panic! #2012 #to live and let go #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

All Time Low - The Irony of Choking on a Lifesaver

Stop fucking around with my emotions. I like you better when you're numb. I'm sick and tired of false devotion. Devote yourself to moving on, or suck it up and let it go, but you're always out to get me.

You're the snake hidden in my daffodils when I'm picking flowers. That's just my luck these days. Why can't you just be happy for me? You're the break lights failing as my car swerves off the freeway. It kinds of feels like sabotage. Why can't you just be happy for- Why can't you just be happy for me? Why can't you just be happy for-

You think opinions make you savvy, like you're some kind of expert. You running mouth falls on deaf ears. You say you're wining 'cause you're laughing. Well, I'm crying crocodile tears. Just suck it up, and let it go.

But you're always out to get me.

You're the snake hidden in my daffodils when I'm picking flowers. That's just my luck these days. Why can't you just be happy for me? You're the brake lights failing as my car swerves off the freeway. It kind of feels like sabotage. Why can't you just be happy for- Why can't you just be happy for me? Why can't you just be happy for-

Why can't you just be happy for me? I'll never be enough, no. I'll never be enough. Why can't you just be happy for me? I'll never be good enough, no. I'll never be good enough.

But you're always out to get me.

You're the snake hidden in my daffodils when I'm picking flowers. That's just my luck these days. Why can't you just be happy for me? You're the brake lights failing as my car swerves off the freeway. It kind of feels like sabotage. Why can't you just be happy for- Why can't you just be happy for me? Stop fucking around with my emotions. Why can't you just be happy for- Stop fucking around with my emotions. Why can't you just be happy for me?

#all time low #don't panic! #2012 #the irony of choking on a lifesaver #lyrics

[the-songs-of-my-life]

All Time Low - So Long Soldier

Back in '95, a little boy from just outside of London took a fated trip across the ocean. Little did he know that he would find his voice in verse and chorus, making wishes on his broken stereo.

Can't shake the noise from his bones. Hear it all play out in distant echoes.

So long, soldier, cruise controller. Satellite trajectory, guide us into reverie, and come down to voice a generation.

Late 2005, the boy's got plans as crazy as his friends. They take their chance driving West alone. Give him six more years, and see what time will do for hopeless dreamers, singing wishes to their broken stereo.

You can't shake the noise from their bones. Hear it all play out in distant echoes.

So long, soldier, cruise controller. Satellite trajectory, guide us into reverie, and come down to voice a generation. So long, soldier, cruise controller. Satellite trajectory, guide us into reverie, and come down to voice a generation.

#all time low #don't panic! #2012 #so long soldier #lyrics