1. |
Rearview Mirror
01:20
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potential thrown away, i hate this place, there's nothing left for me, so why don't we just go and stop feeling alone. pissing our lives away in a dead end town with no route of escape. all the joy we've found, we'll leave it six feet underground. i can't stay and run in place, i'll stagnate and turn into everything i hate. i can't believe just how much time we've wasted here, we've been stuck in place for nigh on twenty years. two steps forward, two steps back, even though we're right on track, so let's fucking leave, de-fucking-railed, and never come back home.
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2. |
Comfort Zone
02:32
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let's begin with the end, and how it got like this. scrolling through my facebook messages i found you'd gotten cold and distant, trying to figure out where i made a mistake. nothing that i can say to change the way you feel today, all i know for sure is that i'm not okay, i'm not o-fucking-kay.
i'm back to being alone, back in my comfort zone, i've deleted your pictures, burned your books and sold my phone. i don't want to cut ties, you know i hate goodbyes, but you'd understand if you saw all of this through my eyes.
now he's back again, same fucking dick he was back then, i hope he chokes. i hope his train crashes, leaves no survivors, and you end up knowing what i know.
you'll end up alone, out of your comfort zone, burning all your bridges, cutting ties and staying home. i don't mean to start a fight, i mean i hope he treats you right. in all honesty i hope that everything isn't alright.
(i'm back to being alone, back in my comfort zone, i've deleted your pictures, burned your books and sold my phone. i don't want to cut ties, you know i hate goodbyes, but you'd understand if you saw all of this through my eyes.)
i'm back to being alone, back in my comfort zone, i've deleted your pictures, burned your books and sold my phone. i've got nothing left to say, so i'll hide this song away, and every time you're online, just pretend that i'm okay.
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Defeat Statistics UK
Four-piece queer punk band in the grey and bitter south.
We'll play in your kitchen for petrol money.
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