Which is the hardest part for you?
Is it the years?
You bury another birthday
And you're running out of space for numbers this big
Which is the hardest part for you?
Is it the years, or is it the months?
Rent money is due again
And you're not really sure you can make ends meet
Which is the hardest part for you? Is it the months, or is it the weeks?
You can always remember exactly where you were a week ago, and you regret it
Which is the hardest part for you?
Is it the weeks, or is it the days?
You wake up in the morning
And instantly you regret that, too, staring down the barrel of ex-punk
The days, the weeks, the months guilty of a self indulgent haircut turning turncoat on us
This is one ugly (uh-oh) machine with amiguously dreamy imagery