You thought you had it made
like the songs would write themselves.
But your words ran out of ink
and your fingers lost the chords.
Now you lay around so bored
and you hit the bar at 2:00
and you waste your time on girls -
they know they're getting used.
They love the pain that you create
the drunken fights you fabricate -
'cause they've been hurt too...worse than you.
You told them not to get involved.
Some bullshit excuse to escape unbruised.
But they move on, while you're stuck hating your self-deprecation - you're self-centered songs.
The space you've created between your words and your actions.
These loveless liasons have left you alone -
all you've gained is a loss.

You wish, and you wish and you wish
you could regain a love you never had to begin with.

You wished and you prayed and tried to stay in love -
or at least in your lover's good graces...just to keep it going
'Cause when they leave the drinks get stronger...
and much, much more frequent for the sloppy drunk boys
They hide in their basements where the songs write themselves.
Yeah, it used to be easy before we got lazy and drink with the girls.
"No, I know it's not your fault.
No, you said not to get involved."
Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you need to believe in all these self-inflicted tragedies.
You scribble them down on that miserable sound
I guess this is the good life.

Your self-deprication has made it's translation - these lyrics are done.