New Old

Enough of the old-times eyes
 Enough of the same old reprise
 So ugly
 So tired
 So bored
 So true
 I don't know what do with you
 Now number three on the side has been giving me the eye
 Like somehow I'm the one who's crossed the line
 And you?
 Your songs write themselves
 And you?
 You're no better
 You know, this place will wear you down
 Ain't much left to do but wait for some good news
 You in the corner shaking just staring at your phone
 Singing "I gotta get outta here. I gotta go home."
 I'm trapped in a sea of debris
 I am five
 I am fifty
 I am fifteen
 She spins around and says "so, what's your theme?"
 Says she wants to know what is it I mean
 To maintain a distance I no longer occupy
 The ongoing joke I continue to choke down