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letra de a bad case of the gimmies - dylan owen

[verse: 1]
this is worn out imagery of torn down images
crashing paper plane flights of sworn out sentences
in sorry songs that finish with a vip p-ss to the ocean
man i’ll be making waves before i crash
what’s the link between a smile and a cemetery?
laugh tracks are with these flashbacks stacked in photograph packs
or open album trash that leaks your empty memories
in worn down images of torn out tendencies
but i’ll be back in new york soon where i can read this
to old bearded poets whose steam fled when fear hit their cigarettes and skin
they stopped pouring sunlight the morning they were born
they were only taught to run right
but isn’t that me in the future? i’ve got a thousand of em
caught in an instant. chances where the sound is sung
you’ll never drown me now when it’s all about the listening
to the worn out admittance of the things that always get to me

[chorus]
what if this ship was gonna sink in the next couple minutes
would you drop the anchor from your grip?
or would you go out fighting, singing hallelujah on the bending bow edge of the ship?
man what if your life was gonna end in the next couple minutes
would you leave your sad soul within?
or would you go down fighting, singing hallelujah, with “t-tanic” trapped in between your lips?

[verse 2]
yo and now i’m at a new york payphone with one call and a decision to make
i’d rather stay home than stay awake
cause these days get worn out, these pages get torn down
till snowflakes need to fall to warm grounds
but i’ve got a lot of sorting out to do. don’t we all?
got a bad case of the gimmies and a stand like a bowling ball?
well that’s good, if you want belief to form around your beliefs
otherwise it’s a worn out streak
so i can either call my childhood and tell him it’s my dream
or join the cigarette men who all lost their steam.is it a sentence or a savior when it’s seen from the streets?
in worn out ways, i’ve got water at my feet
but even that can’t stop me now. i’ve got a thousand of em
tensions in my lungs and i swore i wouldn’t count em
when there’s not much more to believe in, you’ll see it.in worn down days i’m torn but still repeating

[chorus]
what if this ship was gonna sink in the next couple minutes
would you drop the anchor from your grip?
or would you go out fighting, singing hallelujah on the bending bow edge of the ship?
what if your life was gonna end in the next couple minutes
would you leave your sad soul within?
or would you go out fighting, singing hallelujah, with “t-tanic” trapped in between your lips?

- dylan owen

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