Going back to that empty house is my biggest fear,
walk in the door and everything gone,
and no cigarette smoke to make everything clear,
with no best friend and no running water, this isnt real its a con,
it has to be,
I'll pack as fast as I can just to get out to sea,
leave my small town and just leave,
but its never so simple for packing takes time,
and I'll tell myself everything will be fine,
but this anxiety is a stone in the bottom of my stomach,
that never stops rolling,
this is no home anymore just a doorway,
to a place that I can not stay,
so I'll run away as far as I can,
and all the memories from the past month from my mind I'll ban,
look back someday and think they wore better,
but by then happiness will hopefully be in my grasp or in within reach,
because I'll be serenading girls who dont know what I'm saying,
at the beach.