Professor Larkin Called, He Said He Wants His Astrology Book Back. Nice Try. Songtext

So scrap the albums, this romance wasn't as novel an idea, as in those books. In retrospect, I saw right through you, everytime you shot me one of those looks. Love is just an excuse to keep singing when we forget the words. And hope is just a sugarcoated apology when we realize that there is no cure.

So forget we ever landed on the moon. What's the use? We could never live on it.

So love the letters, while they last, I haven't had time to get to the fireplace yet. Looking back, I forced every word, and I forged them all, as someone I've never met. Maybe who I was then, but not who I am, and certainly not who I'm going to be. I guess what I'm saying is they were as fake as the time I wrote our names on that tree.

So you can recite every constellation. Just forget it. There's none to call our own.

I'm a fan of the ceiling, but you and I both know I can't just stare at it forever. Now I realize, that the door was always there, the perfect way out but I was trying to avoid the cold air. Now that I've planned my exit, I'm frozen in this chair. Your living room is a jungle, but this struggle will be worth the warmth of your front porch.