Well I haven’t paid rent for a month or morenI’m couch surfingnAnd I don’t have a key cause I don’t have a doornI’m couch surfingnI’m not answering questionsnI’m between housesnnOf my material possessions I’ve lost tracknI didn’t need themnEverything I need fits in my backpacknI call it freedomnA pair of jeans some shirts and a guitar leadnA toothbrush, socks and a paperback readernAll the rest is what’s hanging off of mennAnd I’m not taking callsnI’m between housesnnOutside the night is dark and stormynAnd you blew up the air mattress for menWe’ll talk all night like an open booknAnd I’ll sleep on every breath you tooknBefore you leave I’ll sneak a look up at younnBut there's an old saying that could bare retellingnWhen you're couch surfing:n'the guest should leave before the fish starts smelling'nWhen your couch surfingnnIt's romantically existentialnTo reduce your life to the bare essentialnAll that which is inconsequential guides mennBut this whole theory really dependsnOn weather or not you’ve got good friendsnAnd all this weightlessness the philosopher preachnReduces you to societies leachnBut tonight i've landed on my feetnI'm still one friend away from the bum on the streetnAnd i've used up all my good will vouchersnOn every single friend with couchesnIt won't be long before they'll ask me to leavenIt's time i cut myself some keysnGive me a pen i'll sign a lease and go get me a home