I think I grew up a little bit punk
always running, believing I could, as long
as I believed I’d not run out of luck
throw open my chest just to flood the world
always running to the soundtrack of thunderclouds
fight club, spite club, anger rot between our teeth
faded yellow apathy rolls through the streets
I, young mind, believed it wanted to see me bleed
I think I grew up a little bit homesick
this town, with its cavities and flashlights
her words for me are warm yet simply ironic
if these streets are the blueprint of my dreams
this town holds the power of a burning candlewick
red flame, red shame, hushed words only walls hear
but the older I get, the more love replaces future fear
until my fight club town becomes a cherished souvenir