The Monologue Bombs - Martin Street Revisited

We came from Cuyahoga, Ann Arbor, St. Paul
The smell of burnt caffeine, how it clung to us all
We sold our plasma, worshiped boredom
Sneered for tips, deferred the loans
Still we came cause it wasn't home
Then someone snagged a Fender, someone wrote a song
Borrowed mikes and broken amps fed back all night long
We played for gas, we played for cases
Played for handfuls nodding off
Sub Pop bound (or so we thought)
Spines all limber, visions clear
So sure the galaxies would meet us here
Pushing to the front
We weren't fooling anyone
Then, one by one, we cashed it in or sobered up
Slipping discs and freezing rain kept calling our bluff
We tucked the merch up in the attic
Walked the aisle, or just stumbled off
From a fire that never caught
Come on, let's kick the gravel and raise a box of wine
To the days of sweet inertia whistling down the line
We'll watch these kids load in and set up
Open tabs and check their sound
All that current seeking ground
Room warm and crowded
See the pickguards shine
By the second verse we'll be feeling fine
Good as nights of old
Yeah, we will not fool a soul

Written by:
Scott Phillips

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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