Whitmer Thomas - The Golden One lyrics

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)