That’s how it starts

We go back to your house.
You check the charts,
And start to figure it out.

And if it’s crowded, all the better,
because we know we’re gonna be up late.
But if you’re worried about the weather
then you picked the wrong place to stay.
That’s how it starts.

And so it starts.
You switch the engine on.
We set controls for the heart of the sun,
one of the ways we show our age.

And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up
and I still don’t wanna stagger home.
Then it’s the memory of our betters
that are keeping us on our feet.

You spent the first five years trying to get with the plan,
and the next five years trying to be with your friends again.

You’re talking 45 turns just as fast as you can,
yeah, I know it gets tired, but it’s better when we pretend.

It comes apart,
the way it does in bad films.
Except the part
when the moral kicks in.

Though when we’re running out of the drugs
and the conversation’s winding away.
I wouldn’t trade one stupid decision
for another five years of lies.

You drop the first ten years just as fast as you can,
and the next ten people who are trying to be polite.
When you’re blowing eighty-five days in the middle of France,
Yeah, I know it gets tired only where are your friends tonight?

And to tell the truth.
Oh, this could be the last time.
So here we go,
like a sail’s force into the night

And if I made a fool, if I made a fool, if I made a fool
on the road, there’s always this.
And if I’m sewn into submission,
I can still come home to this.

And with a face like a dad and a laughable stand,
you can sleep on the plane or review what you said.
When you’re drunk and the kids leave impossible tasks
you think over and over, “hey, I’m finally dead.”