Lyrics Everything Gets Old - Dylan Owen
Driving
down
the
interstate,
it's
2 am
I'm
infinite
Wondering
if
I
can
make
this
last
before
it
finishes
These
front
porches
haven't
taken
down
their
Christmas
shit,
from
last
year
They
want
more
from
life,
if
it
exists
I
guess
we're
all
looking
forward
to
us
shining
A
couple
holidays
from
now
we'll
all
be
fine
when
We
finally
get
a
chance
to
walk
along
horizons
Or
we're
bored
of
trying,
organized,
and
45
and
tired
We
were
shopping
mall
pilgrims,
outlaws
at
yard
sales
We
wrote
our
names
in
ash
and
cigarettes
on
guardrails
So
if
they
do
report
me
missing
and
my
car
bails
I
was
21
the
day
the
engine
in
my
heart
failed
Someday
I
wanna
leave
the
state,
move
away
and
gone
Every
wrinkle
in
my
face
says
I'm
aging
wrong
Wake
up
in
a
diner
playing
80s
graduation
songs
And
start
to
wonder
if
my
generation's
days
are
lost
Orchestrate
the
horns,
tires
hit
the
rain
I'm
driving
singing
prayers
that
I
compiled
on
the
way
Cause
heaven's
just
a
car
crash
away
from
real
life
Until
then
I'll
never
know
what
paradise
feels
like
Yeah,
well
everything
gets
old
Everything
gets
dusty,
everything
gets
cold
Until
we
do
it
all
again
without
the
interruptions
And
no
longer
can
recognize
the
houses
we
grew
up
in
Yeah,
well
everything
gets
old
Everything
gets
vintage,
everything
lets
go
Until
tomorrow
when
we
find
a
better
way
to
end
the
century
And
suddenly
we
recognize
the
people
that
we're
meant
to
be
As
I'm
driving
down
the
interstate,
it's
4 am
I'm
infinite
Wondering
if
I
can
make
this
last
before
it
finishes
Is
this
great
stillness
all
we're
really
out
to
find?
Is
there
a
pot
of
gold
at
the
end
of
the
power
lines?
We
hopped
fences,
over
garage
centers
and
Hopelessly
lost
tenants
of
the
parking
lot
perspective
Tired
of
broken
Hondas,
tires
that
blow
up
on
us
Someday
we'll
grow
up
and
be
local
rock
legends
Who
stopped
pretending,
I
don't
wanna
be
that
lost
Convinced
my
ticket
out
isn't
a
scratch
off
We
found
hope
in
a
melody,
it
was
just
a
riff
The
song
says
there's
more
to
life,
but
it's
just
a
myth
Speeding
past
the
gallery
of
lights
Lead
me
off
into
the
blanket
of
the
night
Because
I
would
rather
crash
my
car
on
purpose
Than
grow
up
to
be
a
person
who's
unhappy
with
an
accidental
life
When
everything
gets
old,
everything
gets
dusty,
everything
gets
cold
We'll
finally
do
it
all
again
without
the
interruptions
And
we'll
no
longer
recognize
the
houses
we
grew
up
in
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