Letras
Can we talk about the migratory patterns
Of the grey whales swimming up from Mexico
And passing by our town in April?
Not unlike our neighbors
Need a vacation in Gainesville
When the highways turn to veins
And all our cars turn into blood cells
I swear, there is a point to this
That life goes on and I still miss you
And I've laid waste to all my little
Habits, ticks, and processes
It's true
Can we talk about how all the time we spent together
We made all our biggest mistakes
And we made each other better?
Yeah, I swear I was the worst version
Of myself when I met ya
Every single word I let outside
Of my mouth was depressing
And now, a random person gets the best version of you
And I can't breathe
It's hard to wrap my head around
The fact that you won't know
The best version of me
I think I need a hobby
Maybe try my hand at surfin'
But the culture can be unforgiving
While the kooks are learnin'
Yeah, guitar is pretty hard, but
Not as hard as thinkin' of ya
I remind myself a thousand times
To practice and recover
All the while, the whales are swimming
Losing loved ones to the sharks
I think our neighbor passed away
And left his widow to embark
On a ten-thousand-mile pilgrimage
From Baja to the Arctic
Yeah, I know that pain is relative
But beauty lies in starting somethin' new