Small Town Guilt

It's cider flavoured sick at first Followed by the coughing of virgin lungs The poorly picked out pairings and clumsy exchange of clumsier tongues Nowadays you love a roll up you'll partake of smoke or pill or sniff Surrounded by the washed out aging faces that all share the whispered "What if?" Small town guilt is a fickle thing Small town guilt we all just stick around for the ride Small town guilt there is nothing for us here In the place where ambition goes to die You've never been afraid to do your own thing but look how far that hasn't gotten me I'm no better off than the small town cop who hit on me but said he'd break my neck should I tell Small town guilt is a fickle thing Small town guilt we all just stick around for the ride Small town guilt there is nothing for us here In the place where ambition goes to die Little lost boys and little lost girls are stumbling down the avenue of circumstance Won't somebody light a candle so there's something to flock to? Anything at all Small town guilt is a funny thing Small town guilt we all just linger round for the ride Small town guilt there is nothing for us here In the place where ambition goes to die In the sepulchre of futures In the refuse pile of what ifs In the dumping ground of "some time other than now" In the place where ambition was buried under the lies of best laid plans In the place where ambition goes to die