Lyrics Classic - Color Theory

I lose myself
In beautiful things
Does a butterfly die
If you tear off its wings?
It's not jealousy
In the classical sense

I'm black and blue
Come tickle me pink
The memories smile
Lift me out of the drink
It's not suffering
In the classical sense

The wildest extreme
At seventeen
Now it's a classic
Now it's a classic
Can't blink out the dust in my eyes
I'm half alive
Marooned in traffic
Marooned in traffic
Marooned in traffic

These streets of old
I wander with you
With a hole in my heart
And a rock in my shoe
But I know the way
In the classical sense
In the factual sense

So dress me down
I'm going out of style
But you're not coming with me
No, not by a mile
You were pretty then
You're beautiful now
You're beautiful now

The wildest extreme
At seventeen
Now it's a classic
Now it's a classic
Can't blink out the dust in my eyes
I'm half alive
Wrapped up in plastic

The throwaway scene
At seventeen
Now it's a classic
Now it's a classic
Old classmates name-dropping like flies
The facile lies
Bleeding nostalgic
Bleeding nostalgic
Bleeding nostalgic