Tipsy in a Wool Sweater

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Alan Arefyev

3:40

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Listen little man you're not the only one you've had
There's a river crowded well with single squatters like yourself
And if you think you know just what it means to be alone
Then I'd advise you to go home and shut your windows lock your doors
Cause you can cry in a dark room but we all know that pretty soon
You'll be crying to a tune that someone didn't write for you

It's an underworked conspiracy
A widely shunned illiteracy 
And someone ought to teach it to the kids in school
But learnings not cool anymore
It's a chore, maybe crime
City water tastes like wine
Only if your brain works like mine

The hasty suits casting their smiles out of pity
The planes are the only stars in the city
The bright lights the bright dreams are products of basements 
There's a reason all pigeons are colored like pavement ya know

Listen little girl you won't be little for too long 
There's a mass of people standing in a line to just be done
If you look around you'll see that all the people look like me
They've misjudged and took for shit just what it meant to be so free
You can hang around with clowns and do some drugs watch shit go down
Or you can drown yourself in frowns just for a minute then be proud

It's a pesky little paradox 
Closed off by combination locks
Tied to one another in an endless chain
But each of the locks has a name
And untamed, like a bird 
You just sit and drop your turds
Fly away without saying a word

The hasty suits casting their smiles out of pity
The planes are the only stars in the city
The bright lights the bright dreams are products of basements 
There's a reason all pigeons are colored like pavement ya know

The streets are filled with drunks and those who dream turn into punks and stones
Meanwhile there's a girl inside the bar who's on her phone
She's talking to her dad who by her cheeks seems pretty mad
Well he's drunk too it makes here sad that all her life he's called her lad
Now he's walking out in tears cause after all her seven beers
She's gotta run back to her house only to choke on her own blouse 

It's a forceful dose of irony
A comical catastrophe 
And I just sit there watching in my shady cloak while rain gets me sick and rather soaked 
And this bloke, from the bars
Might take my cash and steal my car
Or maybe he just wants to play my guitar

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