Retired broadcasts from the vista

Surprised again, spring breathes new life
Place void of death, but not alive
The greasy spoon, misshapen dreams
The fast food chains, humdrum machines
Remember when this lot was bare
Tales told by light shot through the air
Tuned radios to just the right station
Spellbound by fantasy between grass and stars
But I slipped again, lost track of when
And it's all the same, it's all so plain

I'm standing still, the town evolves
Beneath my feet, well, more like dissolves
They say it's new and shiny too
We needed change, and landfill fuel
But I've seen this place some times before
Behind the billboards on 8 lane roads
I miss the grass, I miss the stars
And I miss the things that made this ours

Stories between grass and stars
Popcorn in backseats of cars

Can't make the trip to yesteryear
This type of thing you forget to fear
And you have changed in the same way
I'm not ok, I'm not ok

Begin at the end and end where we begin
I didn't even notice it was April 3rd again

We are moving, Standale's changing,
Everything's the same
Even if what we remember's not what it became

Stories between grass and stars
Popcorn in backseats of cars

Can't make the trip to yesteryear
This type of thing you forget to fear
So tune the dial, turn up the sound
Just leave yourself and all that's around
Just lean right up to the windshield
Now who'd deny that dreams are real?
And you have changed in changeless ways
And I'm ok, yes I'm ok