Dead poets honor

I wish that I could say, “I’m giving you my best.”
To the people that I’m closest to this is my first collapse.
I spent the last few years trying to figure it out.
It left me hung up with lines like love first times, I hate the sound.

A sunny California has quaked to the rain,
sun is sleeping in the ocean with a novelty tee that reads,
“Fuck the stars. You know who you are.” You know who you are.

I keep my head low but you mistook that for my eyes closed.
Eyes closed, and I can’t stand this place that we’re from.
Take a shot and I can’t stand these things that I’ve done.
It’s all I’ve got.

The lonely writer writes himself to sleep tonight
and if he can’t stay the same maybe you’re the one to blame.
I’ve seen everything I want inside of everything I’m not,
inside a small northern town where she’s too often found.

I keep my head low but you mistook that for my eyes closed.
Eyes closed, and I’m not pulling my punches it’s just some nights I can’t win.
I’m now writing for closure and slowly learning to live and I can’t stand this place that we’re from.
Take a shot and I can’t stand these things that I’ve done. It’s all I’ve got.

Fall asleep on the streets of the cities you love.
Fall asleep on the streets of the cities you love.
Fall asleep on the streets of the cities you love.

I keep my head low but you mistook that for my eyes closed.
Eyes closed, and I’m not pulling my punches it’s just some nights I can’t win.
I’m now writing for closure and slowly learning to live and I can’t stand this place that we’re from.
Take a shot and I can’t stand these things that I’ve done.