Текстове на песни: Kevin Devine. Ballgame.
A good man doesn't drink,
and i've been drinking alone.
So what does that make me?
My hands they always shake,
and no one's callin my phone.
So what does that make me?
I know the kid with his guitar so drunk and anxious,
it's been done to death but tell me what hasn't, i'll try it.
Because i'm selfish enough to want to get better,
but i'm backwards enough not to take any steps to get there.
And when you realize it's a pattern and not a phase,
it's what you've become and it's what you will stay,
that's the ballgame.
Cause i don't got room in my life for anyone else.
And i've driven away all the people that can help.
And i still don't even know what i need to do to fix myself.
There's a clamp around my chest that tightens everytime i lapse into another sorry story,
about my miserable collapse.
A brown box i keep encased in glass and dust off whenever i want your pity.
Cause lately i've had to come to grips with scope and figure.
How my problems stack up in a world two steps from ruin,
or maybe it's rapture.
Well either way i realize that my shits about as small as it could be,
but that makes me feel worse for even feeling this bad in the first place.
Cause there's a war starting soon and all the flags will be waving,
Daniel's twenty year old friend will be ready, and willing, and waiting.
He's a marine and he told me.
And it makes me sad, really really fucking sad,
but at least he'll act.
I'll just bite my tongue and then say
"Daniel you wish him luck, i'll pray that he comes back for mother's sake,"
and then i'll drink those thoughts away,
I've gotten good at that.
Cause when you realize it's a pattern and not a phase,
it's what you've become and it's what you will stay,
that's the ballgame.
and i've been drinking alone.
So what does that make me?
My hands they always shake,
and no one's callin my phone.
So what does that make me?
I know the kid with his guitar so drunk and anxious,
it's been done to death but tell me what hasn't, i'll try it.
Because i'm selfish enough to want to get better,
but i'm backwards enough not to take any steps to get there.
And when you realize it's a pattern and not a phase,
it's what you've become and it's what you will stay,
that's the ballgame.
Cause i don't got room in my life for anyone else.
And i've driven away all the people that can help.
And i still don't even know what i need to do to fix myself.
There's a clamp around my chest that tightens everytime i lapse into another sorry story,
about my miserable collapse.
A brown box i keep encased in glass and dust off whenever i want your pity.
Cause lately i've had to come to grips with scope and figure.
How my problems stack up in a world two steps from ruin,
or maybe it's rapture.
Well either way i realize that my shits about as small as it could be,
but that makes me feel worse for even feeling this bad in the first place.
Cause there's a war starting soon and all the flags will be waving,
Daniel's twenty year old friend will be ready, and willing, and waiting.
He's a marine and he told me.
And it makes me sad, really really fucking sad,
but at least he'll act.
I'll just bite my tongue and then say
"Daniel you wish him luck, i'll pray that he comes back for mother's sake,"
and then i'll drink those thoughts away,
I've gotten good at that.
Cause when you realize it's a pattern and not a phase,
it's what you've become and it's what you will stay,
that's the ballgame.