I sleep on the floor so I can be closer to you
And spread my secrets across the Coke-stained carpet
I was always so careless.
A vinyl record player in the corner
Makes me feel more like myself when
We always want want we don't understand,
Ancient relics of better days.
I guess it's true what they say,
That old things are new again with age.
But I don't feel new at all,
like my aunt's bell-bottom jeans.
They make her feel pretty.
They make her feel special.
And here you are paying ninety dollars
For jeans that won't fit
And no one will give a damn about
A week from tomorrow.
Do they make you look fat?
Or do you just crave the attention?
Just like everyone else.
Just like me, and my record player.
The scratches fill the silence when the music stops.
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