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Get ‘The Greatest Generation’ on iTunes now: www.smarturl.it/TWYTGG_iTunes

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Lyrics:
Clear the Apartment. I plan on collapsing and I could have sworn I heard a car door slam.
I’m stuck at the corner of grinding teeth and stomach acid, all alone under a soft rain and
streetlamp. I spent my life weighed down by a stone heart, drowning in irony and settling
for anything. Somewhere down the line all the wiring went faulty. I’m scared shitless of
failure and I’m staring out at where I wanna be. I just want to sell out my funeral. I just
want to be enough for everyone. I just want to sell out my funeral. Know that I fought
until the lights were gone. I’m walking through harbors and churchyards. I felt the snow
crack under my feet. I’ll stay thankful for mild winters, for every shot I got at anything.
I’ll blame the way that I was brought up or the flaws that I was born with or the mistakes
that I’ve made. They’re all just fucking excuses. Bury me in the memories of my friends
and family. I just need to know that they were proud of me. Oh, we all wanna know.
Where’d the American dream go? Did you give up and go home? Am I here alone? Oh,
when the credits roll, I’ll watch as the screen glows; the moments when I choked, all the
fears that I’ve outgrown—at least I hope so. I was just happy to be a contender. I was
just aching for anything. And I used to have such steady hands but now I can’t keep them
from shaking. I’m sorry I… I’m sorry I don’t laugh at the right times. Is this what it
feels like with my wings clipped? I’m awkward and nervous. I’m awkward and nervous
but I was kind of hoping you’d stay. I need you to stay. Oh, god, could you stay? I need
you to stay. I need you to stay. I need you. If I’m in an airport and you’re in a hospital
bed, then, what kind of man does that make me? What kind of man does that make me?
I know how it feels to be at war with a world that never loved me. All we had were hand me-downs. All we had was good will. Two blackbirds on a highway sign are laughing at me here with my wings clipped. I’m staring up at the sky but the bombs keep fucking falling. There’s no devil on my shoulder; he’s got a rocking chair on my front porch but I won’t let him in. No, I won’t let him in. ‘Cause I’m sick of seeing ghosts and I know how it’s all gonna end. There’s no triumph waiting. There’s no sunset to ride off in. We all want to be great men and there’s nothing romantic about it. I just want to know that I did all I could with what I was given.

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