Recorded December 2011. Words by Cj Reay.

So you like to watch your football games. 
You nod your head to show you ‘know what it all means’.
And you like to think, that your shit don’t stink. 
But you never even made it on to the fucking team.
You never even made it on to the team.
You’ve got the job to show who you are. You’ve got the house, you’ve got the car.
You’ve got all the things that make you feel like you belong.
You close your eyes and you sing along, you sing along to these stupid fucking bands.
You wrote the lyrics on the back of your hands.
You’ve bought the look, you’ve bought the dream, you like to think you know what it means. What this shit means.

And we like to indulge in our own pain. And we fuck up all the big decisions.
I dry my clothes out in the rain, and I aint got a pot to piss in, I feel like somethings missing and I don’t know what it is.
I guess that I am still that scared little kid.
So Grandma tuck me in, and sing me that old song, 
and please leave the landing lights on.
Hairs on the pillow from where you used to lie.
I can still see that look within your eyes.
I’m breaking. I’m breaking. At the seams.
I don’t know what it means. What this shit means.

The Casual Terrorist