A day to celebrate myself feels strange,
a quiet resistance to believing that this year
isn't cigarette nights and one last drink,
isn't getting so faded it disappears.
Attention on me, I didn't do anything,
only stayed alive for twenty three years, so what?
Somehow a girl thinks I'm charming,
I'm in peewee and she's hitting in the major leagues.
A day to celebrate myself,
but I'm no longer burnt out, silent, drowning Dan,
I'm someone else.