|- The little hands of asphalt - Love song for young novelists -| I think it's in Am on the recording i heard so Capo 5 Em F C G Count the days, decisions are boring so i fold them up, and tuck Them away i like you now, but who knows in the morning When the alcohol, has fled the brain. When i get off work, i need new words to vage war on So let's meet outside the library doors I'll trade you a notebook and some fresh oxymorons for the smiles that tend to throw me of course. Dm C E Am G Couse now your just not making sense, my dearest friend under the lens Dm G C E Am G i got it wrong this time, i found better ways of changing my mind There still nothing wrong with love, it's just stuck in traffic not thinking of The day it will change lanes, but there is only one thing that stays the same so i propose a toast to change. When spring hits town, let's go out to the islands To work on our postapocolyptic skills i found a thing that might just keep us on dry land my raw affection for you is soon this thing As my maps unfurl don't always be pretty their polar opposites in light and sound your the brightest burn in this whole city and i was the darkest boy around So once the right corrections made you roll your eyes in my cell and mates why choose different trails on our quest for pure empty taste For now let's round up our regrets and our imaginary pets and play the same old games but give them new and better names i know you like inventing names