Where else would i rather be
than right here?
An ordinary night with my guitar,
at ease in my room, surrounded by color,
Shelves overflowing with books,
no ipod, no cell phone,
a pen tilted in my hand.
It gives me time to think
about the leaves changing,
people i miss,
and the world beyond this lame little town,
full of pretty places and pretty people and parties.
And i am alone,
with absolutely nothing to do.
So forgive me if i won't talk.
i'm just trying not to snap at you.
All i want to do is lower my head and listen
to the soft sounds of cars passing by,
of rain hitting the window panes,
of other people's lives rushing past,
while my own life plays in slow motion,
and my heart beats in my chest,
and my thoughts fly off to a world
composed of one never-ending friday night,
and about a million saturdays.
So, again, i ask you,
where else would i rather be?
That's easy;
anywhere but here.