Potholes Mark the Pavement

Tripping over bottles filled with gold flake paint I feel bad at least I still feel sane Guess my bright paint is starting to crack Please stop laughing I want to go home Seeing videos you took sent to my phone Now what's that supposed to make me feel? So I sit here thinking feeling insecure Mocking court jester can't find a cure Hope you'll better soon This ailment has been killing you Summer's way too soon I hope I'll get out of my room Potholes on this old suburban road Every year they try to patch them up Eroded by rolling steel boxes Keeps us coming back to fill those in Hope you'll better soon This ailment has been killing you Hope I'll change someday I thought I was content with me Hope I'll better soon I'm never coming out my room The door is open Though I know you won't come by no more