When the Party Ends
I hear your conversations with your boring friends
You know it doesn't matter what you're telling them
'Cause you'll be sleeping over when the party ends
And we'll wake up tomorrow and we'll start again
And anything outside of that is just pretend
And if you tell them different then you're lying
The things that people say don't make no difference
Now we can talk it over or just go to bed
Or we can go to all the places where the money's spent
And buy whatever new distraction that the suits invent
They know the demographic that we represent
Because they heard all of our secrets through the heating vent
So write another song about your discontent
And wax nostalgic for times less turbulent
With metaphors like closet doors that won't open
And you can use your list of words that rhyme with "opulent"
Now someone said you that you should throw in "malcontent"
Maybe somebody can tell us where the liquor went
And we can raise our glasses while they raise our rent
And search for a solution that's more permanent
But there isn't any doctor or a medicine
That's gonna make you feel less insignificant
Another bunch of words that you can soon forget
Another bunch of crooks disguised as gentlemen
Now you wonder why your notes are always bruised and bent
You think it's your song but it's your instrument
You want to turn invisible and try again
I'll kiss you in the kitchen and i'll count to ten
And then when you wake up
All of this will just have been a dream
But until you do
Let's keep it between you and me.
(words by Fred Thomas of Saturday Looks Good to Me)
It's been a while folks. Hope everyone is doing well and enjoying the holidays. I'll catch up soon.
I hear your conversations with your boring friends
You know it doesn't matter what you're telling them
'Cause you'll be sleeping over when the party ends
And we'll wake up tomorrow and we'll start again
And anything outside of that is just pretend
And if you tell them different then you're lying
The things that people say don't make no difference
Now we can talk it over or just go to bed
Or we can go to all the places where the money's spent
And buy whatever new distraction that the suits invent
They know the demographic that we represent
Because they heard all of our secrets through the heating vent
So write another song about your discontent
And wax nostalgic for times less turbulent
With metaphors like closet doors that won't open
And you can use your list of words that rhyme with "opulent"
Now someone said you that you should throw in "malcontent"
Maybe somebody can tell us where the liquor went
And we can raise our glasses while they raise our rent
And search for a solution that's more permanent
But there isn't any doctor or a medicine
That's gonna make you feel less insignificant
Another bunch of words that you can soon forget
Another bunch of crooks disguised as gentlemen
Now you wonder why your notes are always bruised and bent
You think it's your song but it's your instrument
You want to turn invisible and try again
I'll kiss you in the kitchen and i'll count to ten
And then when you wake up
All of this will just have been a dream
But until you do
Let's keep it between you and me.
(words by Fred Thomas of Saturday Looks Good to Me)
It's been a while folks. Hope everyone is doing well and enjoying the holidays. I'll catch up soon.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
Merry Christmas, etc