paroles de chanson Lovely Thing Suite: Conversations - Watsky
I
remember
vividly
My
tears
dropping
on
the
grey
carpet
on
the
top
step
Pops
giving
me
his
best
guess
Me
confessing
the
burning
question
stressing
and
concerning
me
and
Turning
me
to
a
wet
mess
It's
probably
nothing
I
get
it,
I'm
aware
I
know
it's
probably
stupid
to
be
scared
But
these
days
are
flying
past
us
and
nobody
seems
to
care
It's
like
we're
sprinting
towards
a
brick
wall
we're
pretending
isn't
there
What
happens
when
we
hit
it?
Do
we
split
into
a
million
bits
Or
do
we
come
back
as
a
bullfrog
and
talk
in
ribbits?
What
is
it?
What
is
it?
You
got
the
answer
so
give
it,
so
give
it,
so
give
it
Don't
lie,
what
happens
when
we
die?
Dad
says,
Georgie
I'm
just
guessing
from
what
I've
been
told
Probably
thinking,
"How'd
I
raise
this
emo
fucking
nine-year-
old?"
Since
I'm
sorta
really
not
religious
it's
a
crapshoot
I
roll
a
pair
of
dice
Although
the
thought
of
paradise
is
very
nice
In
my
heart
I
know
I
don't
believe
in
magic
So
I'm
thinking
maybe
death
is
like
eternal
TV
static
Or
returning
to
the
state
before
your
birth
Absorbed
into
the
earth
The
fewer
hours
left
the
more
they're
worth
I
admit
that
it's
difficult
to
think
about
I
think
everybody
got
a
little
bit
of
doubt
You
don't
get
to
hide
from
it
even
if
you
shout
Not
a
soul
on
the
planet
gets
to
wiggle
out
And
he
said
that
I
know
that's
it's
tough
to
take
in
son
but
it's
so
early
I
can
see
you're
in
a
hurry
but
don't
worry
cause
That
isn't
for
a
long,
long
time
That
isn't
for
a
long,
long
time
That
isn't
for
a
long,
long
time
That
isn't
for
a
long,
long,
long,
long
time
Life
moves
fast
Made
the
mistake
of
blinking,
twenty
years
passed
Now
I'm
sitting
in
my
living
room
in
Brooklyn
with
my
father
We
don't
bother
doing
Christmas
in
the
Bay
any
longer
It's
first
time
that
we've
had
this
conversation
He
says
"it's
tough
to
take
in
I
know
we're
not
quite
ancient
But
we've
reached
age
where
we
should
probably
talk
arrangements
We
could
take
it
several
routes
We
could
sell
the
house
We
can't
work
forever,
eventually
money
will
run
out
That's
a
spot
taking
a
loan
would
help
us
cover
Which
would
make
it
tougher
to
leave
something
for
you
and
your
brother"
Stop—can't
you
see?
Every
meal
that
you
paid
for
me
All
this
power
to
chase
a
dream
All
this
privilege
not
to
crave
riches
But
it's
plain
to
me
the
key
fact
is
it's
easy
to
act
like
cash
means
jack
shit
if
You
never
lacked
it
And
the
greatest
honor
I
could
have
is
to
make
a
buck
and
pass
back
a
Fraction
of
all
the
happiness
you
gave
to
me
And
I
will
never
make
you
live
where
you
don't
aim
to
be
Age
is
just
data
We
paint
our
story
A
to
Z
then
dip
out
R.I.P.
rip
out,
we
tear
out
the
pages
Tear
up
the
stage
and
we
take
a
seat
Making
a
vacancy
Famous
or
not,
we
fade
from
the
plot
Every
day
when
a
new
night
falls
I
ride
around
the
sun
on
this
big
blue
ball
I
get
a
bit
further
from
the
kid
called
Paul
And
I
get
a
bit
closer
to
the
big
brick
wall
But
since
inching
up
to
that
fence
I
can
run
my
fingers
against
all
the
bricks
and
mortar
and
sense
That
it's
not
so
cold
and
so
dense
And
although
I'm
mournful
I've
known
that
I'm
not
immortal
I'm
not
banging
into
stone
but
I'm
more
heading
through
this
portal
We're
born
to
return
to
home
we're
all
born
to
be
mincemeat
Everything
dies
except
for
Papaya
King
hotdogs
on
86th
St
Dad
hands
me
a
napkin
tells
me
it's
been
the
same
since
the
fifties
He
didn't
always
love
the
city
but
dammit
he'll
miss
me
How
can
you
miss
something
after
you
leave,
I
agree
that
it's
sad
but
please
Don't
dwell
on
it
Dad,
because—
That
isn't
for
a
long,
long
time
That
isn't
for
a
long,
long
time
That
isn't
for
a
long,
long
time
That
isn't
for
a
long,
long,
long,
long
time
1 Pink Lemonade
2 Midnight Heart
3 Lovely Thing Suite: Roses
4 Lovely Thing Suite: Knots
5 (Bonus Track) Exquisite Corpse
6 Lovely Thing Suite: Conversations
7 Going Down
8 Brave New World
9 Love Letters
10 Yes Britannia
11 Springtime in New York
12 Little Slice
13 Chemical Angel
14 Don't Be Nice
15 Lovely Thing Suite: Theories
16 Talking to Myself
17 Tiny Glowing Screens, Pt. 3
18 Stick to Your Guns
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