Punk
One hundred thousand cigarettes,
An ash-tray full of old regrets,
Just a way of sharing wasted time.
Broken homes and splitting friends
That's how every story ends
That doesn't start with 'once upon a time'.
It's thirteen months of punk-rock hits,
It's rocking out and watching lips
And never hearing what you've got to say.
It's quiet nights in quiet bars,
Not caring that you're seeing stars,
Happy that your smile's pointed my way.
Now it's fuck all your feelings,
And fuck all your friends,
It's fuck what I'm thinking
And fuck let's be friends.
It's fuck all your family,
Fuck what they'll say,
No kids no commitment
I'm walking away.
It's studded belts and torn-up jeans,
Smeared lipstick and ecstatic screams,
It's never thinking that it's gone too far.
The silver cord of destiny,
That weaves through noise from you to me
And gives me some idea of where you are.
It's carpe diem, who dares wins,
Love's for sipping but passions binge
Forever never lasts so come what may.
It's scraping weekly for the rent,
And seeing that the rest is spent
On wishing everyone but you away.
Now it's fuck all your feelings,
And fuck all your friends,
It's fuck what I'm thinking
And fuck let's be friends.
It's fuck all your family,
Fuck what they'll say,
No kids no commitment,
I'm walking away.
It's headaches and not in the mood,
The weighted questions that you use,
It's getting round at last to asking why.
It's birthday presents never got,
It's anniversaries forgot,
And staring at locked doors to hear you cry.
It's clippings from your magazines
Depicting your white wedding dreams,
Your oh-so subtle hints left on my desk.
It's sulky silence, screaming fits,
An endless stream of 'this is it's,
And a menagerie of idle threats.
So it's fuck all your feelings,
And fuck all your friends,
It's fuck what I'm thinking
And fuck let's be friends.
It's fuck all your family,
Fuck what they'll say,
No kids no commitment,
I'm walking away.
No kids no commitment,
I'm walking away.