It was another summer afternoon.
We were sweating with the bugs of June.
There were no window down and no radio up.
They both had went to hell that month.
We were lost in our own headspace.
There were too few hours to waste.
We had old guitars too hard to play.
We had fantasies that were slipping away.
We wondered if our time had pa**ed.
We wondered if we could make it last.
We'd say, "Hey man, I'm sick of this place.
I don't know if I can be great.
And hey man, I'm leaving this place tonight, tonight."
Hey man, I'm sick of this place.
I don't know if I can be great.
And hey man, I'm leaving this place tonight.
Tonight we ride.
It was a clear Sunday afternoon.
We had a big birthday barbecue.
There was football on and steak grilled up.
A perfect day, but we both felt stuck.
We were hiding screams with smiles in place.
There were too few hours to waste.
We had old guitars too hard to play.
We had fantasies that were slipping away.
We wondered if our time had pa**ed.
We wondered if we could make it last.
We'd say, "Hey man, I'm sick of this place.
I don't know if I can be great.
And hey man, I'm leaving this place tonight, tonight."
Hey man, I'm sick of this place.
I don't know if I can be great.
And hey man, I'm leaving this place tonight.
Tonight we ride.