So this is my third album

And when it′s done i'm not sure where i′ll be

I just applied for a job in oaklandSo that i can get in that scene

And talk to hipster kids that dress like me

And hand them my cd

And say 'your set was great,

Do you wanna book a show with me on saturday at starline?'

That job′s in data science i′m pretty good at lying

On my resume these days

'I′ve got arcgis, c++ and cascade'

I′ll show up hungover and staring at the ceiling

Thinking back to what the world looked like

From underneath psychedelic glass ceilings

I need a golden opportunity

I need a shot at redemption

Don't wanna end up twenty-seven

Forearms bleeding colors in a graveyard

I′ve got a lot to say

So laptops closed and pay attention

Tear your 90s literature apart

Record your daily thoughts to bandcamp

I'm keeping prisoner of myself

From an alternate dimension

Asking him just how long till he fucked it up

And he answers me 'three years′

I probably drank too much

I probably spent too much time alone

I probably smoked too much

I probably spent too much time with her

And I can hear just what they′re saying

'Oh he′s got it made and still complains'

Well it′s true I do

But I can't help what words I end up putting on the page

And yes I know I′m not depressed

Like my depression heroes, car seat and mitski

If only I could suffer like they do

Then writing songs would be so easy

And I would be legitimate

To everyone who writes a tweet

About how father john misty

Is this generation's paul mccartney

No one says that because it's not true

No offense to josh tillman just want to clarify

In case he calls me out on facebook

So I′ll float down okkervil river

Eating japanese breakfast

While less than tame impalas

Are killing suns and moons

In an old abandoned beach house

Well my pants are red enough to raise an eyebrow

But not rad enough to matter

And my shirts are old enough to taste like campfires

But not old enough to tatter

If I collect enough mastiffs and doberman pinschers

I might make it into heaven long enough to snap a picture

To the legions of millennials who think it′s cool to be agnostic

It's pretty cool to have no feelings, no ambitions, make no promises

And I′m a time-delayed masochist from my undergrad decisions

Having cruel internal dialogues with circa fall 2011

And I am beating eighteen-year-old me to fucking death

Oregon's not far, but if I make the drive

It will bring me much closer

To making sense of who I′d like to spend

My weekends with when sober

And I can see how it'd be if I went to Corvallis

Cut trees in the forest

And built a redwood vr to kick it with t.s. elliot

Left her in senior year, found someone else

Who read non-fiction, liked paul thomas anderson

And put up with ut kirin breakdown hell

Would I not have found myself alone at a desk

Spinning data in python to get a check and pay rent

Would I not have found myself alone in my head

Getting kicked by a drill sergeant to light fires that spread

Well I should give up and be a fucking adult

But I′d be lying to myself

And that's just not what I'm about right now

At least not right now

Why does it make me hate myself

To try to remember myself

By keeping handwritten letters on top of my shelf

From people I wrote songs about in 2012

But when I was walking through Point Reyes

Alone and painted in acrylic colors

Well I thought myself in circles of sinusoid yellows

Threading tapestries from nothing

Ripping meaning out of everyone