The Golden One

I’m thirty right now
But when I wrote this riff
I was twenty-two
It don’t feel different
I’m no more articulate
Than I was then
So fuck writing these words man
What’s the point?
These business guys’ll just case the joint
And scoop me back up into my miserable dreams
My naïveté, man
It never fails
Tosses me an interaction
And watches me flail
Against the wind
How can this end
Without me seeming unlikable
And I’m the captain of so many sinking ships
My favorite songs have started to skip
And when I sing
It feels more like talking now
Was this ever a comedy?
I wanna be irreverent and silly
So I wipe away the steam
And look at me
I’m just no fun
My mother’s son
(Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
It’s like a golden star for every piece of my heart
That flounders on the ground
Waiting for a re-spark
All over again
With a new girlfriend
Or some new stupid fucking joke
Can’t keep the plants alive, man
In my place
My '99 Camry’s held together with tape
And that’s okay
It still runs great
It truly does
And I hate getting real, man
But I want to cry
Every time I see a mom who’s still alive
Or a dad who smiles at his baby boy
I’m too proud to admit that I’m full of shit
When I talk about politics or music
That isn’t some
Blink-182 record
So I guess I’m a philistine and
I had to look that up
So I could write it down just right fucking now
I did not go to college
I’ve never been to Europe
And my favorite film’s The Dark Knight
Alright
Holy little beams
Well they shot out of her seams
I felt alive with her dreams
And so dead to the fiends
I am the sum
My mother’s son
(Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
I watched the life leave my mother’s face
Decided right then
To leave that place
And never turn back
Because fuck it all
And oh, mother
What can I do?
You’ve given me no choice but to be better than you
I just wish you were here to ask questions to
Like why do I feel the need to always cut a fucking rug?
And why do I fucking melt when someone gives me a fucking hug?
And do they want me here?
Do they want me here?
So what can I offer
But a little less space
In a room on the east side of Los Angeles
How bleak can I be?
How bleak can I be?
Well
I can dance and I can sing and I can tell jokes
Don’t get me telling stories about my parents shooting dope
I’m no good at barely being
Barely being anywhere
Alright
Youth feels incomplete
I still got grass stains on my jeans
(I still got grass stains on my jeans)
And I’m fucked, or so it seems
(And I am fucked, or so it seems)
I am deemed
(I am deemed)
The Golden One
My mother’s son
(Ah yeah!)
(Woo!)
(Ooh!)