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Hard-hopin'I can openIt upHeartbrokenAnd soft-spokenAin't we all grown up now?Mary-Lynn, when you call to meThere is little I can doAnd you want to bring it all to meWell, you know, I'd want you toBut seeing as there is no placeSeeing as there is no traceI do not know if I can taste itAnymoreNow I rub each tear duct with my handsWhen someone's foreign bathtub product brandsStung my heart and plucked my glandsBecause it understands the smellYou woreThat's when I follow my dad downTo the video rental storeSongtexteMentally exploreThe gloriousPhantasmagoriaTo some sunny summer family reunion in a soccer practice parkThrough a dark grainy camcorderWith 1994? in white numbers on the border of the lower right corner where youWere quite pixelated by the men in the tansBeside the subtly outdated minivansIn turquoise polos as the boys blow O'sThrough the dirty mustaches they grewSmoking Merit cigarettes you inherit from PapouPulled from soft packs in an 89 Buick Park AvenueIn slacks on the pickup lane of the Catholic K thru 8 his great grandson goes toThere's a dead world locked in a Nintendo 64In some divorced friend's mom's apartment bedroom drawerAnd a chandelier of chrome in her white brick apartment home'sShared stairwell where the farewells blewAnd sag with the bagsOf sidewalk saltYou cannot disownYour middle-school cologneAnd the tediumIs the medium that connectsAll that is holyI was the goalieWho let in an infinitude ofWorldsThat I can't possibly disownThe snowOssified to boneAnd got stained so blackBy the track of the sliding doorsOf the modern cell phone storesChaldeans smoking sweetlyAs the deeply dim night poursFor youThere's a meteorologistOn the local newsWhose hand I got to gripOn a fifth grade field tripHe's no long young-dad hipFor he's now as old as all of usWould ever want to beAnd the weather, we foreseeWill be better endlesslyOnce Nana'sBackyard swallows usThe lawns aren't cut too shortAnd they abut the tennis courtAnd our ages are not cagesThat we cannot re-assortOh, the obsolescenceOf your adolescenceHeavy as a copy machineGargantuan, elephantineIn an old friend's dad's 90s home officeWith off-white purring processorsAnd PC blurs on monitorsThey can't display the past so theyJust mark their time and darkenI'm justHard-hopin'I can openIt up Aus Songtexte Mania