You don’t have to worry about a thing
There’s high hopes in our sights
The day’s just begun and we’re in and out of sleep
And blinded by the light
I wasted my Saturday on thinking too much
You waited for my call
The days are unnumbered which adds to the fuss
And I miss it more and more
It’s hard to define between rain or shine
So I spend every morning repeating a rhyme
Back inside I shout at the walls
At this point I’m three inches tall
Don’t answer the door it might be our final call for the night
You’ll find that your interests only go so far
You gear up and burn out
It needs to be balanced with working the floor
To sweat out all your doubts
Through intimate acquaintance with generous folk
Your worries slip away
If there’s someone who makes you confused or upset
Just don’t see them everyday
I have a hazy memory of having my hands tied
But not in a good way
Back inside I shout at the walls
At this point I’m three inches tall
Don’t answer the door it might be our final call for the night
credits
from Transport,
released March 14, 2013
Recorded, mixed, mastered and generally made more bad-ass by Brad Smith.
Co-written with Caleb Cole.
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