The Wonder Years - I Just Want To Sell Out My Funeral

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.