I've been around the world a thousand times or so
It seems to me I'll never really find a fit and
It's still the same people
And still the same crowd
It's just not accepted
It's still not allowed
But every single thing I say
Gets taken out of context some way
It's only what you make it out of
I can't breathe and to be dead and
Something now and all this time spent
Riding high when I'm still stuck at
Home in the hopes that you'll
Find me or write me or
Call me on the phone
I said some things I probably should have kept all to myself
To people who they maybe listen to the
Still the same feelings
And still the same thoughts
It's just what I gathered
And all that I've got
Every single girl is gone
Taken, only by someone else
It's only what you make it out of
I can't breathe and to be dead and
Something now and all this time spent
Riding high when I'm still stuck at
Home
Alone
Yeah it's only
Only what you make it out of
I can't breathe and to be dead and
Something now and all this time spent
Riding high when I'm still stuck at
Home in the hopes that you'll
Find me or write me or
Call me on the phone
At Home in the hopes that you'll
Find me or write me or
Call me on the phone
At Home in the hopes that you'll
Find me or write me or
Call me on the phone