Counting down the days 'til I'm with you. I cringe at words I say, I'm swimming with the sharks the work week through, so I'm drowning come Friday.
Reaching front door, turning on the radio, walking to the liquor store. You're what I came here for, you're what I came here for. But I've got nothing left - a couple bucks, some cigarettes. I pick a day to say I'll quit, I'm filled with hope or full of shit.
It doesn't really matter where I look, the directions seem the same. I'm closing out my nights with Fante books. If you're happy then why change.
Counting up what's left. I let it ride on easy bets. Once I traded in free will it got easy to keep still. You're what I came here for, what's the point of anything.
