Remember when we'd hang with out friends every day?
Plans were hardly made, no Sunday brunch no wine wednesdays
Get off the phone, I just got Brenna's screen name
Panic at the disco was always my away
Hers was fall out boy we were one in the same
But these ain't the salad days
My mother's gotten over me
And Vic asked if you're my girlfriend
Well pop punk's cool again so I'll try that for a couple lines I guess
I feel like Mr. Brightside
It was only a kiss
Now I'm fuckin up this friendship
Cause I'm always wanting more,
So imperialistic, so infuriating
I get it now, I'm a cliche of myself
I'm a tumblr post that your 16-year-old self teblogged before you knew what it was like to fall in love
I'm not special, I ain't nothin new
If god is real I'd like to have a chat
On my crushing doubt and my crooked back
And we'll have a drink, and it'll be on him
It'll be on him
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